


Broken Locks, Twisted Dreams

by Flaminea



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Anger, Angst and Tragedy, Childhood Trauma, Drama & Romance, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship, Guilt, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Psychological Drama, Romance, Sacrifice, Tragedy, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 12:01:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 61,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5089991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flaminea/pseuds/Flaminea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice.<br/>The destiny of a Hero awaits her: and yet, she's the wrong one for the job. For her, the Grey Wardens' mission is nothing more than a ticket for freedom, vengeance and power. She will soon find out how freedom brings along responsabilities and ghosts, growing closer to her as well as her former enemy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A silver-tongued Warden

# A SILVER-TONGUED GREY WARDEN

_**9:10 Dragon** _

__

_I came from far_  
_Beyond your reality_  
_The ocean of time_  
_It's the odyssey of mine_  
_I am the narrator_  
_And now I'll tell you_  
_Where I've been_  
_And what I saw_  
_And how it ends_

Irving knew every single note. That melody was a memory which his dreams had given back to him, a memory he could not have retrieved himself since it's the lullaby his mother used to sing while sitting beside his cradle. More than that: the symbol of a time that would never come back, when he was only a baby and neither demons nor magic's grasp had reached him. A time when his mind was too simple, raw and innocent to be corrupted by either of them. That lullaby had become his shield against the Fade, which itself is the necessary evil every mage has to endure in order to savor his gift. Even the night before, as he was roaming into the Fade and fighting for his life, his lullaby had helped him escape in one piece: it's the reason why he had managed to stay strong, bound to reality and truth, successfully ignoring and fighting every single temptation in his path. In a word, his lullaby is the reason why his Harrowing had gone so smoothly and without any trouble.Thanks to it, he has kept his innocence close every step of the way; a baby once again, cradled by his mother's voice and the swish of sea waves. Even now, as he enjoyed the winner's sleep, his lullaby and the sea waves, so similar to the crashing of Lake Calendhad's waters on his Tower's base, were what kept him anchored to reality.

Yesterday, Irving had gained his status of Circle mage. He was young and proud of himself, unaware that every new dawning is simply a new test of every mage and a new battle against the demons scratching at the doors. He smiled, basking in his victory and surrounded by his lullaby. He could almost see her: he was an infant, and she was sitting beside him on her old rocking chair. She was humming, and he could see her lovely smile and her face framed by long, honeyed chestnut-brown hair. As sleep slowly overwhelmed him, his mother reached for his cheek for a caress and turned down her voice. The wind hauled the calm, steady whisper of the sea. 

_“Sleep, my child, my sweet Irving my little one...”_

He can still hear her repeating his name, growing tenderness into her voice; it sounds more and more like a monotonous tune. 

He waited for her to blow out the candle, but instead the flame grew and grew. As the fire started eating his cradle and the walls of the room, the lullaby didn't stop. Only it was not his lullaby anymore: it was a croaking, tone- deaf cacophony. As the flames devoured his mother's face, turning her into a twisted mask of fire, her smile didn't fade nor she moved away. The croaking chair swung faster and faster as the seastorm outside his house raged, and he started screaming in terror. 

Irving opened his eyes, trembling. There was no bed under him. He was drowning in the raging sea. He desperately flailed around, trying to keep his head above water. But to no avail. Using all the force he has left, the mage called for help. Abruptly, the sea was gone and he was tumbling into the gray curtain of the Fade, much deeper than he's ever gone before. Strong arms clamped around him, keeping him from falling down, and it was with horror that he realized they were the arms of a rage demon, his twisted mask of fire so close to his face that they could almost kiss. He tried to scream, only to find out that he couldn't make a sound. He couldn't scream, he couldn't move, only await for the demon to devour his soul and take control of his body. Hopefully the Templars will be able to put him down. 

_You hear me at last, mortal. You … must listen._

The rage demon's mouth was simply a distortion of his features, and his voice was a roaring snarl echoing all around. Irving trembled under the simple echo of that roar, his head hammering with pain. 

__

_The newborn child... must... die. The newborn child will carry ruin to the hall.  
The newborn's death would be a blessing to us all.  
She... will become a magnificent creature. She will shine with rage and splendor. And... he will be entangled into her fire._

In terror and pain, Irving had no idea who the creature was talking about. And yet, he could only keep listening. He almost fainted when the demon's snarl turns into a raging, inhuman roar.

_FEAR THE HEAT OF PASSION, FIRST ENCHANTER! YOU MUST NOT LET THEM IN! THEY WILL BRING IN A MURDEROUS PRICE! DO NOT OPEN THE DOOR OF THE TOWER!_

The demon released him, and Irving was falling down right into the heart of the Fade.  
For the second time, Irving opened his eyes: this time, bathed in sweat and almost breathless, he looked around at the ceiling of his room. Outside, a storm was raging on Lake Calendhad and his forearms were burning with heat. The pain of his burns was almost insufferable, but at least it served as a reassurance that he was now wide awake and he escaped the clutches of the rage demon. Irving was no fool: he knews exactly how close he came to being possessed. And as he used his healing arts to treat his wounds, he remembered every single shard of his nightmare. Now that he could think clearly, it made no sense: why was a rage demon sent to tempt him, of all demons? And why would a demon pretend to be concerned about the Tower's fate? How could a rage demon, one of the less subtle ones, have conceived of suck a trick? Then again, by no means he was the First Enchanter. It took him only one second to come back to reason: he had to banish every memory of that nightmare. It would only have helped other demons find o him. He couldn't confide in the First Enchanter Remille either. He had to forget everything.

 

_**9:30 Dragon, Kinloch Hold** _

__

_The Moon, she hangs like a cruel portrait_  
_Soft winds whisper the bidding of trees_  
_As this tragedy starts with a shattered glass heart_  
_And the Midnightmare trampling of dreams_

As of today, Cullen wasn't sure whether he loved or hated the library.  
Ever since he had learnt to read, his father had invested both in his military training and in his education. At the Rutherford house life had been about duty, his days divided equally between work, training and study. Different kinds of duty, but duty nonetheless. He had chosen the Templar's life, but he hadn't expected to come to love the Circle's library too. Since the first time he set foot into the library, three years ago, he'd been enthralled by it: and every day he spent a couple of hours reading. Once the mages were confined to their rooms for the night and he had finished his duties, he was free to stop by the library and enjoy his daily reading. Recently, though, he had started to wonder if he shouldn't have focused on his duties only.The library, after all, was the place where he had met _her_.

“Well, well, well, Adamaris. I see you can't conjure a proper freezing spell yet. Poor thing.”

The apprentice Adamaris almost jumped, then shot a deadly look towards the owner of that velvety voice. Every apprentice in the room looked up as well. That same voice brought Cullen back to the present. Almost panicking, he realized that he had let his mind wander for several minutes, thus leaving the mages without surveillance. He inspected the room quickly: three apprentices were training their elemental spells, in a safety globe which prevented them from accidentally setting the whole room on fire, while the rest were simply studying at their tables. But his inspection was brief: just like the apprentices, he couldn't prevent himself from turning his head towards the girl entering the library.

Neria Surana, the most gifted apprentice of the Circle and Irving's favorite pupil, stood in the doorway, only a few steps away from Cullen. An amused smirk was on her lips as she contemplated the poor Adamaris. She was so close that Cullen could smell her scent, a mixture of orchid and fern. The templar couldn't stop himself from tracing the mage's figure with his eyes. They traveled her slender legs', now hidden under her robes, and lingered on the gentle curve of her back, then proceeded along her thin waist and her shoulders, and lingered on her mild and yet perfect shaped breasts. Then, the templar's gaze reached her graceful neck and the lovely form of her elven years, completing its path with her red hair, gathered through a hair clip into a loose ponytail. Neria tilted her head slightly to the left, and Cullen blinked several times, as if that gesture had freed him from a spell. He glanced around quickly to see if anyone had noticed. Luckily for him, every gaze in the room was intent on Neria: every single female gaze was filled with envy and dislike, while half of the males in the room was staring at her in rapture. Not that she seemed concerned about any of it. 

Neria resumed her swaying walk, and Cullen struggle to keep his gaze away from the mage. Still smiling, the red-haired girl pointed to the piece of wood Adamaris had only, and faintly half-frozen.

“How long have you been practicing that spell, Adamaris? Hasn't it been three weeks by now?” continued Neria. She glanced that same piece of wood, raise her right hand and flicked her wrist to the right, simultaneously folding her skillful fingers towards her palm. The wood froze so quickly that a puff of ice billowed upwards. 

Neria glared towards Adamaris a satisfied smirk. “I could help you. If you ask nicely, maybe I will”. 

Cullen had known both Adamaris and Neria since they had entered the Circle Tower. While Adamaris was insecure and shy, Neria was cocky and outgoing; Adamaris' lack of talent and slow-learning was even more contrasted by Neria's quick ascent. Initially, Neria had been the Circle's and the instructors had appreciated Adamaris' quiet nature. Sadly, once Neria started behaving Adamaris' zeal was outshoned. In the end, Adamaris was an ordinary girl. There was really no way for her to overthrow the competition. 

And Adamaris didn't cling to any illusion. She had only her pride. “Not even in a million years, Surana” Adamaris replied, harshly, hiding her brown and watery eyes into the nearest book. As if that was some kind of signal, the whole room of students resumed their previous activities; Surana sighed theatrically, shook her head and turned towards Cullen flashing him a quick, warm smile. The templar cleared his throat, and noticed how much the shadows had lengthened and how dim the shining light had become: in fact, the windowglass was showing a spectacular sunset. 

“Time's up, apprentices. Get back to your chambers” announced Cullen.  
As the students were leaving the room, Surana threw him a gentle smile. “I think I left here one my books. May I get it back before leaving, Ser Rutherford?”. Cullen simply nodded, looking at her disappear into another section of the huge library. 

He waited for every apprentice and mage to leave the outer corridor before closing the library's door. And as soon as he did, he found himself inNeria's embrace. Before any duty-related thought could spoil the moment, his lips searched for and found hers. His hand dropped to her hip. As the elven mage began to whet his lobes, her arms thrown around his neck, Cullen slid his hands down on her backside, lifting her up and making his way towards the nearest table. As he gently set her down, Neria grabbed his chin and looked into his eyes. The smile she offered him, so happy and sweet, so different from her usual mocking smirk, prompted him to hold her tightly and place a soft kiss on her neck.

“I was wondering if you had missed me. Now I know the answer” she whispered into his ear. As sweet as her previous smile had been, her tone was now allusive and saucy.

Cullen sighed into her shoulder. Everytime, he swore to stop it: and everytime, looking at the way the male mages glanced at her, he couldn't bring himself to break up with her. He just couldn't bear to shatter the happiness of her secret smiles... or maybe he didn't want to see her smiling like that at anyone else. He was being self-centered, and he knew it: what kind of future could they share? He opened his mouth, determined to do what was right.  
“I wish they didn't drool over you, Neria. I've seen them look at you” he heard himself say instead. 

Neria left out a soft, heartly laugh. “I don't think I can help here. Ever since I blossomed into a young woman, men can't help themselves” she replied with a slight note of satisfaction. “And besides, don't you want your girl to be hot?” she added, searching his gaze. A gentle smile on her lips, she softly kissed him. “Don't lose your mind over those pests. You know I'm yours only”. 

“Do I?” Cullen asked dryly. She dropped her gaze to the floor. Regardless, jealousy kept on talking . “''Cause more than some of them seem to undress you as you walk by. And I heard a couple of those apprentices speaking about your … competence.” 

Neria winced. In that moment, she was no more the arrogant, cruel, perfect apprentice: she was just a girl like any other, filled with heartache.

That sad look made Cullen cup her hands together, and kiss them softly. 

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I've been here only for three years, and you've been honest enough to tell me about your past” he whispered. And when that smile was back on her lips, he felt better. Forgiven.

“You know I'd be ready to show you my... competence. Just say the word. I've been waiting for six months” she purred. And as she spoke, she moved her hands on his waist. For a moment, Cullen even let her: there was something in her eyes, in the way she moved and in her smiles which prevented him from stopping this madness. A mage and a templar? It couldn't happen. It couldn't end well. Moreover, despite being as captivated as he was, he wasn't sure he could trust her: could the sweet, loving girl keeping him forbidden company be the same ruthless, insufferable harpy ready to mock her weaker mage companions? But as Neria's hands slipped under his armor and unfastened his belt, as she sotfly bit his neck, he almost forgot any rational objection. 

Then it came to his mind.

“No. I don't want to distract you the night before your Harrowing” he forced himself to say, quickly, moving away from her. It took him a couple of attempts to fasten his belt, and he did so without looking at the mage.

He would have expected some complaint, or at least an angry look. To his surprise, none of that happened: Neria was staring thoughtfully at the floor. She looked more serious than he has ever seen her. Once again, Cullen wondered who Neria Surana really was: how could she act like life was a play she starred in, and now display such a severe look?

“I... need to talk to you. About my Harrowing” she finally said in a faint whisper. 

Cullen sighed, covering his face with one hand. “We already talked about it, Neria. You know very well that I have to perform my duty. But I'm sure everything will go smoothly: you're far too talented for me to need to...”The templar broke off the sentence. He couldn't even bear himself to say it. What would he do if...

Suddenly, Neria was in front of him, her face so near to his that he could see the mottled gold in her eyes. Without a word, she grabbed his chin and gave him the most passionate kiss he'd ever received. He could only give in and reciprocate, pulling her so near enough to make her gasp, and for their teeth to collide. 

Breathless as her, he laid his forehead on her nose. And that's when she spoke.  
“Leave the Tower with me, my love. If I go through with the Harrowing, they'll use my blood to track me down and I'll never be free. I'll be caged again, and this time for good.” As if his astonished silence encouraged her, she continued “if we don't leave now, we'll never be together. You must be aware of that, you're a templar!”

“Are you fucking insane?” he finally managed to fizzle. He stumbled back, away from her and her touch.  
“If you think I would agree to such a folly, you have no idea who I am”.

Stunned and hurt, Neria remained silent. Her dismayed expression answered in her place. 

“I won't flee from my duty. I wouldn't for anyone, and I won't do it for you. I don't even know who you really are, mage!”. He spat the last word like the worst insult. “For the apprentices you're an insufferable harpy, and one moment later you smile at me like I was your sun and your moon and you were an innocent little girl. All the time you act like your life was nothing more than a stage, then you get all serious and composed. I won't be your ticket for freedom. You're a mage, and this is where you belong.”

Maybe, if she had crumbled over the weight of those accusation he could have become her accomplice, If she has showed suffering, he would have believed in her love. Instead, she kept on looking away, her lips tightened and her hands gripped so tightly on the edge of the table that they were trembling.

“Are you going to report this conversation? And I guess you want your amulet back, too” she asked, lamely. 

Cullen turned his back on her. “Let's just forget about everything. Now go, Surana”. He pointed at the library's door.

Without another word, she walked away. When she passed beside him before reaching the door, he smelled her lovely scent of orchid and fern for the last time.

# §§

First Enchanter Irving was looking out the window. Neria Surana and the Grey Warden Duncan figure's were getting farther and farther, along with Kelter's boat. 

“Are you sure it was a good idea, Irving?” asked Knight-Commander Greagoir. “The girl is not exactly the most unselfish, docile and prone to sacrifice mage”

“She worked for you, didn't she? She lured her friend Jowan into a trap. That seems obedience to me” replied Irving, without looking away. “Besides, she's extremely talented. I'm sure the Grey Wardens will make good use of her.”

“For me. Right” Greagoir commented, sharply. “Say what you will. I just hope she won't go around making doe eyes to templars and mages alike instead of stopping the Blight”. He reluctantly added “I have to admit it. She helped us framing the mage and his Chantry lover.”

The Knight-Commander moved side to side with the First Enchanter. “I can't figure her out, and that troubles me”. 

* * *

_So, thank you to whoever has reached the end of this first chapter! That's the story of one of the Origins characters I played. I loved this Surana so I decided to give her life through writing._

_I ask just one tiny favour: English is not my mother language, so please be gentle in judging syntax and grammar. Also, you might find American English mixed with British English expressions. That's intentional. I claim no rights on the song lyrics's fragments used to mark the different section of this chapter. And ot course, characters are Bioware's creation._

_Finally, I thank in advance everyone kind enough to leave a review. Don't hesitate to point out whatever you think, even if it's negative. Constructive criticism is part of growing as amateur writers :)_


	2. Abandoned, please, brainwashed, exploited

# ABANDONED, PLEASED, BRAINWASHED, EXPLOITED

  
_Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him._  
_Foul and corrupt are they_  
_Who have taken His gift_  
_And turned it against His children._  
_They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones._  
_They shall find no rest in this world_  
_Or beyond._  


They were no other than the anima mundi, as Andraste herself had turned into after her death.  
Of all people on Thedas she had been chosen: to contemplate, to touch and even to obtain a pinch of the Ashes. Neria Surana stood in from of them, silent as any pilgrim would have: but her gaze was not the one of a pilgrim. Neria Surana was contemplating her most hated foe. The Ashes of Andraste may be just a trash bin for Sten, but to her they were the major symbol of her life-long imprisonment.

Neria pulled the vial of dragon's blood from her pocket, then proceeded to pour the red liquid into the urn. She was in no rush.

_That's for having sentenced all mages guilty_

She calmly watched, as the red stain tainted the Ashes. She heard the Guardian shouting in dismay, and then Zevran and Sten unsheating their blades and the warmth of Morrigan's fireball on her skin. Surana turned to engage her enemy, generating a Walking Bomb and initiating the fight.

_That's for the mages' incarceration and the freedom denied_

The Guardian summoned his servants, but she wasn't concerned. They couldn't possibly be a concern for the Warden's quartet. She and Morrigan were careful to avoid friendly fire, throwing death and primal spells, Closer to the enemies, Sten and Zevran sliced through the spirit's essence.

_That's for having denied us forgiveness_

From time to time, one of the Guardian's spirits managed to come near the two mages. Neria twisted her staff and crushed it on the enemy's head, a moment after Morrigan had turned it into an ice statue.

_That's for the elves, still enslaved despite your precious march_

There was only the Guardian left now. As Sten charged and his bastard sword traced an arch, Zevran appeared behind him from out of nowhere, stabbing him in the back. Weakened by hexes, the Guardian failed to parry Sten's cutting blow. When he tried retreating, Zevran's daggers bit deeply.

_That's for your failure as a savior_

Neria extended her hand, summoning her magic. Her Crushing Prison surrounded the dying Guardian, making short work of him. Then she turned back to the Urn. Clutching the staff, she brought it down and crushed the Urn of the Sacred Ashes with its orchid-shaped head: the cutting edges of the petals broke the clay, and the ashes scattered on the floor.

_And that's for for vengeance, Andraste_

.

**§§**

  
_I came from nowhere_  
_Without a task, without a name_  
_Fate, so god please lead me through_  
_Forgotten realms_  
_Mysterious dreams_  
_In sunless rooms I'd sworn_  
_I'll finish what I started, once_  
_I'll find the holy grail_  
_In the holy land_  


“I bring a crown for a king” Neria raised the massive, jewelled symbol of power “and the location of Paragon Branka and the Anvil of the Void.”

For a long moment, the Chamber of the Assembly fell silent. All dwarven eyes were now fixed on the crown. Then, every single Assembly member burst into joyful cries; Prince Bhelen Aeduncan and Lord Pyral Harrowmont looked at each other, then towards the Warden. 

“And who did Paragon Branka chose as Orzammar's King, Warden? Tell us, allow us to move on from our kingless age” shouted the Prince. The Assembly fell silent once again.

Warden Surana didn't answer immediately: she took a couple of seconds to taste that stream of power. She held Orzammar's faith in her hands and she knew it. With a smile on her lips, she raised her velvety voice to be heard by everyone. “The Paragon Branka delivers the crown to Prince Bhelen Aeduncan, and invites him to visit her in the Deeproads in order to start giving life to a new golem's armor, if it pleases the King”.

As Bhelen Aeduncan walked proudly towards his prize, the Assemblyman and the Assemblywoman's rod started beating their rods to the ground, marking his steps. As the Head of the Assembly crowned the new King, their strikes increased even more. Orzammar's first homage to its King. The newly crowned Bhelen gazed on Harrowmont predatory. 

The defeated candidate pledged his loyalty to his new former enemy. 

“Lord Harrowmont is to be executed” raved King Bhelen “That's the first order of the King”. 

Neria heard Alistair gasp in horror and surprise, and held his forearm before he could start objecting. “Later, Alistair. I want my troops and I want to get out of this mountain tomb” she hissed. There was no compassion, or shock, on her face. She didn't flinch when two guards dragged Lord Harrowmont out of the Assembly Chamber. 

“Where are my troops, King Bhelen?” asked Neria Surana. 

 

One hour later, King Bhelen had sworn to honor the Grey Wardens' treaty. She, Alistair, Zevran and Oghren were walking back to camp. 

“Why did you do that, Neria? Harrowmont was a good man, and he even surrendered. It's bad enough that we put a swindler on the throne, let alone on Branka's side” complained Alistair.

She gave him a quick, annoyed look.

“Branka doesn't care who sits on the throne. You heard her. In the matter of Harrowmont” she explained “He was weak. He would have lost the crown anyway, Bhelen would have accused him of having double-crossed those nobles by selling them the same property and he would have lost any support. At best, the Shaperate would have declared the documents false, only some nobles would have believed him and all Orzammar would have killed each other in an attempt to crown one king. You think that would have been a better outcome, Alistair?.” 

“Plus, my friend, Harrowmont's warriors were too chicken to fight for him, remember?” Zevran stepped in. 

“You can't be sure! We should at least have tried to support him” Alistair retorted, ignoring the elven assassin. “And, Maker, why didn't you agree to destroy the Anvil? People will be killed, and become mindless stone statues!”.

Sighing heavily, Neria stopped and faced Alistair. “Listen up. I think you're forgetting that we have a Blight to stop, my noble prince” she started. “Bhelen is cunning, as ready to prevent hits below the belt as he is to counterattack. In fact, you could learn some tricks from him. Just in case you need to sit on the throne.” Her tone turned icy. “And don't even try to lecture me. We agreed we need all the help we can get in stopping this Blight, remember the day after Ostagar? At Flemeth's hut? I'm sure we could use a couple of golems. If I can bargain, let's say, ten lives in exchange for a much better chance for Ferelden, I will.” 

Leaving an anguished, speechless Alistair behind her, Neria kept walking. Slowly, she curved her lips into a smile. She recalled the sound of the noble dwarves rods: they had honoured her findings even before their own king. She breathed in the fragrance of freedom and power. She swore to herself that she would climbed high enough to not be enslaved, imprisoned or subdued. Ever. And if she had to use her Grey Warden's status to make sure of it, so be it.  
Closing her eyes, Neria Surana could still hear the Assembly celebrating her thriumph.

_Tum. Tum. Tum. Tum. Tum._

**§§**

  
_From here I did start for the search so_  
_Full of disease_  
_I still hear my cryouts_  
_From the old cellar's inside_  


_Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap._

Neria Surana opened her eyes. As the nobles of the Landsmeet praised her for her victory over the nation's traitor and clapped their hands, she found herself looking into Teyrn's Loghain's blue eyes. The nobleman was on his knees, an unmistakeable sign of surrender. Meeting his gaze, the mage slightly gasped: it had only taken her a couple of spells to beat him, and yet his wasn't the look of an humiliated man. All she saw was a deep respect, a quiet acknoledgement of his current status. He may well be dead in a matter of minutes, and yet he wasn't panicking at all. Most surprisingly, she felt no satisfaction, neither for her victory nor for that huge acclaim. In fact, she would rather they stopped yelling and praising her.

“What are you waiting for? Kill him” yelled Alistair. 

It took her a couple of seconds to detangle her gaze from Loghain's. And for the first time since she had earned freedom, she hesitated in taking a life. Moreover, she was hesitating in taking the life of the man who had hunted her like an animal for the past year. 

“There may be another way, Wardens” announced Riordan, entering the hall. “Think about it. Teyrn's Loghain is a renowned hero, an experienced fighter and a seasoned general. The Wardens could use someone like him, plus, we need as many Wardens as possible”.

Before she could answer, Alistair practically shrieked. “No! Absolutely no! He hunted us down like animals, he even sent an assassin after us, he almost doomed Ferelden! How could we ever trust him?”

Now Loghain lowered his head. He didn't sigh, he didn't move. He was waiting for whatever was to come in the noblest way possibile. Suddenly, he looked up at her again and Neria could read a quiet determination into his icy stare.“You bested me, Warden. I lay my life in your hands”. Filled by something that closely resembled pride, he wasn’t going to ask for mercy. 

 

Neria listened to him as he listened to Anora's pleas. The queen was right: if he survived, they would gain a general. If he died, he would pay for his crimes. Her gaze encompassed Alistair, Anora, Riordan and Loghain himself. “Riordan is right. Get everything ready, Riordan”. She took her first step to leave the hall, only to be stopped by Alistair's shouted objection.  
“It's me or him. I won't fight by his side, I won't accept him as a fellow companion. Your choice” he growled. Neria turned, and understood that for the first time Alistair wasn't going to back down. 

“You can't leave the Wardens, Alistair. In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice. Remember?” she replied, coldly. If she had to lose that fight, she would at least show everyone that their new king was a perjurer.

“I just did. I'm going to take the crown and reign beside Anora, just like you wanted” he retorted.

Without another word, Neria Surana left the hall along with Riordan and Loghain. She could still hear the nobles though, now focused on praising their royals. Those were the same nobles who hadn't lifted a finger for her when she was nothing more than a filthy elf, but were now ready to praise her as a hero. That was Denerim: the plagued city where she had been enchained into a filthy cellar and almost earmarked like an animal. They had made her who she was now.


	3. The cage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past got its clutches around Neria, but the present demands her attention. More than ever.

# THE CAGE

**_31 Dragon_ **   
**_60 days prior to the final battle_**

  
_A lifetime ago, with frozen eyes they closed the door._   
_Suddenly I realized what locks are for. No trusting them anymore._   
_Empty the stare, innocent and unaware, dragged out from my home ,my lair._   
_Earmarked me, hurt me, burned me._   
_The walls around me, eyes surround me, feed my fear again._   
_The dream is alive, I can run up the hills every night,_   
_Go around and see another side of the tree._   


_Fiery the vengeance, hate will drain me._

_As I bite into the rasperry, a drop of sparkling red juyce skids down my chin. The Brecilian Forest, my forest, is teeming with strawberries this summer. I know mommy is looking for me. She must be worried. But it's the first day of summer, and once I surprise her with the most delicious raspberries of the forest she'll tell me how good I am. My hands are little enough to reach even the most inner section of the bush. When I look at them, they're red with raspberry juice. I decide I'll get my first Vallaslin, and I start painting my face. Then, a big hand covers my eyes and my mouth. Everything turns black. Have I gone blind?_  
The light hurts me. I cover my face, and I see they're still stained with raspberry juice. Whispers reach my elven ears, and I slowly lower my hands, baring my eyes. I'm surrounded by bars, the air stinks of death and a big man is staring at me contemplating me like I'm a piece of meat. Another even bigger man appears from the corner and tells me that Lord Vaughan will pay well for me. I shout, I demand to be let out, but they just laugh. The little wolf wants to sting us, they say. I look at my dirty hands again: the hands of a grown woman now. I don't have to be afraid anymore, they'll get a taste of my power! I cut my palm and I wait for my blood to boil, for my power to be released, for those slavers to fear me. Nothing happens. My blood keeps flowing, and the men get closer, closer, closer. I scream, but no one hears my cry.

“Stop, Neria! Shh, it's just me, Zev!”

Panting, Neria opened her eyes. Zevran was sitting on her stomach, holding her wrists. There were no slavers and she wasn't in a cage, that's her tent.   
“Zev” she panted “I... can't breathe”.   
Letting go of her, Zevran slid back beside her, delicately holding her into his arms. Still trembling, Neria drew a deep breath and rested her head on his chest.  
“It's allright, my Warden. It's all right, I'm here” he softly whispered into her ear. His touch was exciting when he meant it to be, but now he was just stroking her hair tenderly. Not the kind of behaviour she would have bet on: after all, when she accepted his 'massage' she had had a bed partner in mind. Zevran had never stroke her as the cuddling type.

“The Archdemon again?” he asked. “All that's left is the final battle. If I was him, I'd at least try to scare you away”. Neria offered no answer.  
For a couple of minutes, neither of them talked. Then, Zevran chuckled softly. “My dear Warden, you're by far the most adorable, mysterious and puzzling target I've ever met. Any woman would have spilled every single bean by now, and yet I'm unable to guess what could have terrified a mighty mage Warden like you”.  
“It wasn't the Archdemon” Neria blurted out.   
Once again, Zevran remained silent and she silently thanked him. Somehow, the assassin seemed to know when to talk and when not. He never pressed her into personal talks. And yet, until that moment he never had cuddled her either.  
“You said your mother was Dalish” she started, cautiously.   
“I did” Zevran simply confirmed.  
Neria took a deep breath. The words came out before she could plan what to say and how to say it. “I wasn't born in Denerim, Zev. My parents were Dalish, and I was supposed to grow up surrounded by my kin.”  
The elven assassin did nothing but listen. Once again, the mage was surprised by his tact.  
“When I was seven, I was kidnapped by slavr hunters. They thought our young Lord Vaughan would have enjoyed the company of a Dalish child”. Her voice filled with rage, becoming almost a growl. “I showed them. I didn't allow them to lay their filthy hands on me. I thought I earned my freedom and I would have gone back home.”  
“My dear Grey Warden, I'd be happy to kill those men for you. I'd even do it out of charged” joked Zevran. Except than he seemed dead serious.   
“And then the Templars came. Of course, they couldn't offer their precious Lord an harmful plaything” she continued, dryly. “They had no use for me. You know, I asked the Templars if I could go home. Then I asked them why they were keeping me apart from my family. If I was of anything and therefore I was being punished.”  
Neria paused for a moment. “A child is never guilty, but you should not run free. That's what they replied.”  
In time, she managed to relax and even falling back to sleep became a concrete chance. Zevran never stopped caressing her hair and skin, a touch that acted on her like it was a lullaby. Dozing and half asleep, she heard a voice whispering “For you, I'd slaughter every single templar.” She wasn't sure whether it was the echo of a dream or not, neither whose voice it was. She got trapped in the land of dreams before another thought could cross her mind.

**§§**

**  
_31 Dragon_  
**  
 **  
_45 days prior to the final battle. ___  
**

Circle mages are bound to live their lifes inside their Tower. Enchanters could ask for a permission to leave for brief periods of time, of course, but the outer world remained some strange, weird animal only occasionally spotted. Even though she had earned her freedom almost a year ago and since then had fought for the Grey Wardens, drafting a war strategy was an entirely different matter. Neria was well aware that she needed help. Her legs crossed, the elf was sitting into the tent she had made ready for her small war council. Nothing more than a couple of fabric remainders sewn together, to be fair. In front of her, a Ferelden map. Perhaps, once she would have felt uneasy at the thought of not resting on a matters, or to be deprived of an actual room, but now it didn't matter anymore.   
Rays of sunshine gilded her hands and the map for a couple of seconds.

“Kadan” said Sten, taking place beside her. That was his only greeting: the Qunari never wasted anything, words included.   
“Sten. I thought you were still training, you're early. Something wrong?” Neria considered, observing her friend's face. She had come to understand the Qunari warrior enough to know that he never neglected his training, unless there was a good reason.  
Sten replied immediately, withouy any hesitation. “I wanted to talk to you. Are you sure you want him to take part in this meeting? We can't trust his advice, as seasoned as he is. He may offer bad suggestions to get us killed.”  
The mage nodded in agreement. “I know, Sten. That's why you're here. You are experienced enough in terms of military strategy to tell apart deceit and sincere help.” Sten simply nodded in agreement. There was no need for him to affirm his commitment towards their mission.   
Neria had contemplated the possibility, of course. She had been backstabbed enough times to try preventing every negative outcome when it came to trusting people. Nevertheless, she considered that specific change far from likely: after all, without defeating the Blight Ferelden would have crumbled. And if Ferelden wasn't the issue, the man surely cared for his own life. She couldn't be sure how Loghain had taken his defeat: she had no idea whether he was festering a grudge or not. All in all, she had to be cautious, as much as her guts could tell her to be optimistic. 

“Warden. I'm at your command.”  
Loghain announced himself and immediately entered the tent.   
Neria nodded at him, then studied the former Teyrn. He was wearing his armor, and his longsword was resting by his right side, into its scabbard: his facial expression revealed absolutely nothing, but a man who feels amongst friends didn't feel the need to protect himself with an uncomfortable piece of armor during a strategy meeting.   
“Have you received any news from Arl Eamon?” Loghain asked, interrupting her train of thoughts. His gaze fell on the map, where it stopped: he seemed to be examining it with an intent interest.  
“We still have no idea where the horde will strike. However, once an Archdemon guides them we know they plan on destroying human population. A fact that makes Redcliffe and Denerim the most probable targets” Neria explained. Then, she looked up at both men, waiting for their feedback,  
“It makes sense, Kadan” Sten commented.  
Loghain didn't answer immediately. He seemed to be searching for something on the map. Finally, he knitted his brows and asked “Yes, it does. But where are the troops?”  
Neria and Sten exchanged a puzzled look. “Actually, that's what I meant to discuss with you both” she explained.   
In response, Loghain shook his head. “I'm referring to the scale models. It may seem an unnecessary luxury, but I assure you that physically putting the troops in order will help us a lot”  
“I'm not accustomed to, but I've seen some of the Beresaad use the same device” Sten stepped in.  
“If you agree, Warden, I could carve some” Loghain offered. “Meanwhile, we'll just do without.”  
“Go ahead” the mage agreed. “So, we have the templars, the werevolves, Arl Eamon's men, the dwarves and their golems. As much as ranged fighters can become a pain in the ass, knowing that none of our troops will be vulnerable if brought into melee is... comforting. Templars can take care of emissarries.” A slight hint of scorn stained her tone for a moment. “They'll be more than happy to contribute in such a way.”  
“I say we shouldn't wait for the attack to come knocking at our doors. Let's send werewolves into the Brecilian Forest to flush darkspawns out. Let's have the Arl's soldiers patrolling Denerim's boundaries. The dwarves can patrol mountain's passes and the Deep Roads. Meanwhile, the Templars could guard the streets leading to Denerim. This way, we could be alerted if too many darkspawn round up somewhere near both cities” proposed Sten. Neria wasn't surprised. Sten was never one for sitting and waiting for the battle. Instead, he considered it equal to run from it.  
“I hope our werewolves, King Bhelen and the Arl got started on it already, Qunari. Or else, it means our allies lack of any tactical virtue and we're practically doomes” Loghain wryly retorted. His tone softened almost immediately though, before Sten could snarl at him. Of which, Loghain didn't seem much scared judging from his calm expression. “If we have enough man, it's a good plan. A bit risky though: Ferelden is a big country, and if, say, the wolf-beasts or the wandering Templars bump into the horde they might get butchered in a matter of minutes.” Loghain turned to Neria. “How many men do we have at our disposal?”  
The mage twisted her mouth. “This kind of information is still unavailable. They're training every living recruit in order to optimize their numbers. Even the weres.”  
Loghain hissed some vulgar curse, then stared at the map for several seconds before pointing at the Bannorn area. “We are forgetting the Banns. They're our key for an almost flawless vigilance”. He cast a quick glance to Sten. “There's a way to put your plan into practice without risking too many man.”   
To Neria's surprise, Sten quietly replied “I'm listening”.  
Loghain pointed a finger on the green colours of the Brecilian Forest, the Hinterlands and the Circle Tower. “All these areas are to be constantly patrolled. And in doing so, Templars, weres and the Arl's soldiers will guard the streets to Denerim and simultaneously wear the horde thin by crushing the small groups of darlspawn they inevitably will iencounter. This way, we give battle without putting them to unnecessary danger and we protect Denerim as well. Plus, as I said, the Banns' soldiers will surely keep an eye on their lands and provide further protection”. Finally, he indicated Orzammar. “The dwarves will be able to tells us if the horde is moving through some mountain pass. As the Qunari already pointed out.”  
“The Brecilian Forest is the weakest spot” Sten mumbled. “If I was the Archdemon and I wanted to take the battle to Denerim, I'd try to slip through the Korcari Wilds and strike down the werewoles.”  
Until then, the elf had kept listening in silent. She was conscious of her weakness in the matter. This time, though, she knew she could somehow contribute. “You weren't with us when we battled the werewolves, Sten. They might be fewer than the our other armies, and yes, the Brecilian Forest is huge, but it's their home. They know every corner, every hiding and they're not afraid to ambush their enemies. I can assure you, we can trust their competence.”  
Both men intently listened to her, then nodded in agreement.   
“I trust your judgement, Kadan. So, if you trust those beasts, I do too” Sten declared.  
For a moment, Loghain looked at the Qunari almost amazed, then turned his gaze to her. “If that's so, I'm convinced we came up with the best tactical scheme. Just keep in mind that if we choose to not gather the army, it will take days to before everyone reaches the battlefield so it's necessary that every contingent keeps a strict vigilance. On the other hand, we can't afford to strip Orzammar or Redcliffe to its army, Which makes our choice the only actual choice”.   
Neria fell silent again. As she was listening to them, she had started collecting some ideas to herself. “It leaves us with the manner in which we can use the troops when the horde finally strikes, I guess” she started.   
“True enough. Warden?” asked Loghain. In fact, he handed over the floor to her.  
Before speaking, the mage silently summarized the idea she had come up with. Then, she started explaining, carefully weighing every single word. “We still don't know whether the stage for the battle will be Denerim or Redcliffe. Whatever the case, we can't let them go beyond the walls”. She pointed her finger on Redcliffe, “Here, we can build a... defensive belt using the Frostback Mountain's lower elevations, the southern border of the city and the boundary of the Hinterlands. I'd say regular soldiers on the southern border, dwarves on the elevations and weres on the Hinterlands' boundary. At least one golem for each group. The templars should be divided between the three, 'cause an emissary can appear everywhere”. She then proceeded in indicating Denerim. “There, three contingents, again. Weres on river Drakon's southern shore, the dwarves on the western border of the city and regular soldiers along the Coastland's borders. A handful of templars for each contingent, again”. Her finger moved on to the blue of the sea. “It's possible that the Archdemon attacks us from the sea. We should be ready for that too, and place some catapults along the shore”. She quietly eyed both Sten and Loghain. “What do you think?”  
“We may need to rethink the contingent's subdivision, but all in all it might work” Sten nodded. “We have to discuss the placement of the siege machines in general, and the possible use of some other kind of sapper defences, but I say we have built a good skeleton”. To Neria's surprise, he eyed Loghain: obviously asking for his opinion.  
“Let's just pray the horde is not too much for us to take on. If the Makes watches over us, it will work” Loghain whispered, a troubled look fixed on the map. Finally, when he raised his gaze he directed it on Neria. His expression was neutral once again. “I'd like to have a word with you, Warden. If you allow me” he asked.   
Upon hearing that request, Sten briefly looked at her. By know, she knew him well enough to identify that look as a reassurance: if she wanted him to stay, he would have. “Agreed. Thank you for your assistance, Sten” she said instead.   
“It's my duty” Sten replied. The Qunari moved towards the exit, not without casting Loghain a warning look. Upon his exit, the sunset light crept in for a moment.

**§§**

_You aim for a common goal,_

_you are one with your foe._

Still sitting, Neria carefully began rolling up the map. She waited for Loghain to talk, whatever it was he needed to discuss with her. She heard him take some steps, but never lifted her gaze.  
“I can't help wonder why I'm here, Warden” he finally asked. Upon meeting his gaze, the mage could see both detachment and indiffference in it. The map into her hand, she stood up to confront him, her back upright and her chin raised. She met his coolness with pride and self confidence.  
“Please elaborate” she simply asked in return. She was no fool: she perfectly knew what he meant. He was, after all, the one who had hunted her for months, had tried blame her for King Cailan's and had attempted to discredit her at the Landsmeet. She knew it all too well. In acting like the oblivious one, she had decided to try him. To examine his reactions, to come to know the man: she had to know the people who slept in the same camp as hers.  
Loghain neither burst in anger nor seemed annoyed. “Cut the act. We're both smart enough to speak clearly. You perfectly know what I mean, Warden, and you're free to answer me or not. If you don't, I'll keep following my duties nonetheless. However, I'd rather you did”  
Neria listened closely. No, the man was no brute: his vocabulary was the one of a man who went through a proper upbringing, which only meant that if he was festering resentment he was cunning enough to come up with a good plan. He was able to disagree with her without disrespecting her, too. As she pondered her answer, Neria never moved. She meant to prove him that she wasn't nor accomodating, nor daunted. “The more the merrier?” she replied, tainting the conversation with unnecessary humor.  
Once again, he didn't flinch. “If that's the best joke you can come up with, I suggest you refrain. You're better at bossing people, Warden”.  
The mage shook her head. “No jokes here. You are here” she finally offered him his answer “because Riordan said we need as more Wardens as possible. Unfortunately, Alistair chose to hung up his boots so we're back to three, including Riordan. Which is still better than just Riordan and me”. She then shook the map. “Besides, I think you can figure out by yourself how useful you're tactical experience has been. It's not like we are taught military arts at the Circle”. A slight hint of scorn stained her tone for a moment.  
Loghain stared at her in silence, then nodded briefly. “Thank you” he just responded.  
Despite her determination in not reacting in any visible way, Neria found herself frowing. That, she didn't expect.  
“Allow me to state something before I leave, Warden” continued the former Teyrn. He waited a couple of seconds, in order to give her the opportunity to stop him. She didn't: his words could shed some light on that weird thanksgiving. “I am no more a Teyrn. I'm a Grey Warden, and though you extol my tactical knowledge you should know it will be me at your service and not the other way around, I will offer you my counsel when you deem it needed or when I feel like you need it”. For the first time, the mage could see an emotion vibrating into his eyes: deep commitment. “I'll do so because I'm convinced it will serve for saving my country. You are no general armed with a ten-years long experience, but during our meeting with the Qunari you proved how quicky you learn. You managed to earn your mens' submission and respect, even if some of you may not approve of your... methods. The Qunari, the assassin, the dwarf and the witch would follow you into the Archdemon's jaws, while Ser Roland and the bard seem a bit more cautios, but every single one of them is at your command.”  
Neris kept silent, careful in keeping her amazement under a neutral mask. Apparently, she had not been wrong. Loghain MacTir was a man ready to tell the facts as they were: he was as willing to recognize her leadership as well as her weak spots, just like he had been ready to accept both his crimes and death, would it have come to that.  
“You put a sword into the Banns' hands and you put an army together. You fight your own battles as you fought me by yourself. You, in short, earned the right kind of authorithy to guide us out of this nightmare.” He briefly paused “You are a warrior, and as such I'm inclined to believe you will earn my respect too.”  
Strangely enough, she didn't feel praised. Loghain was simply stating undeniable facts. And even more strangely, she wasn't sure how to respond to that. No man had ever approached her that way: Knight Commander Gregoir had treated her like a sly animal, Alistair had always seemed ready to deny any actual advantage derived from the choices of hers he didn't approve, Zevran had tried to hit on her from the start, and Cullen.... She suppressed her own thought, She wasn't ready to go there yet. Certainly, not in front of the man who had approved of elven slavery. “Then we will work together, Loghain” she ended up stating. No other thought left her mouth.

* * *

_I know, I know.  
Both chapter 2 and 3 are a bit short: still, they have been a necessary step to get towards the heart of the story. _

_Please, readers: don’t refrain from disclosing your thoughts and letting me know your opinions! I’d really like to know what you like and what you don’t, in other words how I’m faring :)_

_I also wish to thank my beta reader, Lady Urquentha, for her continuous help in revising my chapter._


	4. Animal have I become

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the final battle approaches, Neria pays a visit to her allies to make sure they're ready and well armed.  
> Her visit to the Tower turns out more shocking and revealing than she has planned...

# ANIMAL HAVE I BECOME

**_31 Dragon_ **

**_35 days prior the final battle._ **

_My deeds were wrong_

_I've stained the land_

_And slain my kin_

Winter was fading away, slowly cast out by a persistent spring wind. It was getting stronger every day, and every night the sky seemed more and more clear as many and many stars surfaced from behind the clouds. Neria could smell spring in the air, and it looked like she wasn't the only one. Oghren and Sten were sitting near the dwarf's tent, and though she couldn't quite hear their conversation she was fairly sure it was about war hammers and greatswords. They shared a common fighting style after all. The dwarf kept offering the qunari his beer flask, and Sten kept refusing it. Standing not far from them, Zevran kept trying to get the flask from the dwarf's grasp, as always. Morrigan was sitting a little bit further, focused on reading her mother's grimoire. Leliana, who had been picked for cooking duty, was asking her to handle this or that spice from time to time. And surprisingly, Morrigan spared her those usual snarky answers. At the border of the group, Loghain was busy carving a fragment of wood. He didn't seem to care for her friends' suspicious look, nor he had tried to step into their chatter. He fought as he was asked, he never left any of them in danger, but at the same time he kept himself almost invisible. As she stroke her mabari's head, Tigh, Neria found herself wondering what the former Teyrn might be thinking about. Excluding the routine, strategical meetings, and the occasional hours of watch, since their clarification they hadn't spoken much. However, every single time Loghain had been nothing but courteous and respectful; she had found out he didn't lack a certain sense of humor, as he had joked even about his joining as a tactic of hers to get rid of him. For the life of her, Neria was unable to figure the man out. He was either a consummate actor trying to convince her to let her guard down, or... Surely he had knowledge of some secret way to live with the weight of his crimes. Deep inside, she desperately wanted to learn that trick.  
Neria looked at her companions once again. Despite the fact that they might have ended up fighting the Archdemon any day, possibly tomorrow, and they might have died in a matter of hours,they were enjoying the pleasant evening. And her? She had wanted freedom all her life, and even though the obligations of a Warden weren't exactly what she had had in mind, she was outside the Tower nonetheless, free to savor a whole new world. Funny how it didn't seem to matter that much, now: now that she had sated her anger and her thirst of vengeance, freedom and power were starting to taste like ashes. The Landsmeet should have been her climax: she had named two kings, she had taken her vengeance both against Andraste and the elves. The ones who, in another life, would have considered her a filthy elf, were praising her as their heroine now. Instead of enjoying the moment, she had felt disgusted and nauseated.

 

“Here!” Leliana exclaimed, handing out a steaming bowl. “I managed to hunt a duck today, so I decided to try out an old recipe of mine.”  
Neria took the bowl without a word; she didn't even touch the spoon, but the stew's smell ambushed her. Before she could drive back those memories, she heard her mother's voice right into her head. Her sweet, melodious voice, her spiced cooking. Marjoram and cumin. Mother said marjoram and cumin brought happiness and good luck. She had smelled them a hundred times into her memory, and now the same scent was spread by her own dinner. Trembling, the mage held the spoon. They could not know. She had to swallow it all. But she barely managed to pick at the dish before losing control.  
“For fuck's sake Leliana. You and your mania for spices!” Neria ranted. Everyone turned to look at her, caught unaware by her outburst. She didn't notice any of it. All she could see was the bowl cupped into her hands. It felt hot. Too hot. Warm like home, warm like her previous life. She furiously threw the cup on the grass before mumbling “I'm not angry.”  
“Come on, my Warden” Zevran called to her “You haven't eaten anything all day. I'll cook for you if you like”. He moved to join her. Neria got up and abruptly turned her back on them all. As she swiftly walked towards the stream, no one followed her. She walked on almost blindly: every road was after all nothing more than a road to nowhere.

**§§**

_I cannot heal your fear and doubts_

_Still, after all the ghosts are howling_

_You cannot run, you cannot hide_

By the time she returned at the camp, almost everyone had retired to their tent. The campfire drew the big shadow of Sten, his gaze on her as she got close.  
“Kadan. As you know, tonight the watch is our responsibility” he simply stated.  
She briefly glanced at him, half awaiting a reprimand or a question. He didn't breathe a single word: as dutiful as ever, he was focused on fulfilling his role. Which right now was the watch. Silently, Neria was pondering. Sten had narrated her some notions about the Qun. According to the Qun, it appeared that everyone was born for a precise role to fulfill. Was that supposed to mean that destiny, along with all the heartache, was unavoidable? Furthermore, how could someone know what kind of destiny awaited him or her? Her gaze fell upon his sword, Asala.  
“Sten?” she softly called out.  
“Speak” the Qunari simply replied.  
“How do the Qunari know what's the role they're supposed to fulfill?” the mage asked.  
“We are bred for a specific role, so it's decided even before our birth. However, if upon growing up a warrior ends up showing a different talent he can be moved to another task.” He turned to look at her. “What is it you really want to ask, Kadan? Just ask me. If I have no answer for you, I will tell you and we won't be losing time.”  
Neria sighed deeply. She knew he hadn’t meant to offend her, but she wasn't sure how to approach the issue. “Right” she agreed. She kept talking without looking Sten in the face, “You were born to be a warrior, right? But then you lost Asala and you lost yourself as well. What would you have done if we hadn't found Asala? Would you still call yourself a warrior?”  
Sten stared at her, keeping quiet for several seconds before answering, “If you hadn't found Asala, I would not trust myself as a warrior. Ever since I lost her, I've been aware of the risks I was running. Nonetheless, I tried to redeem myself”  
The elven mage listened quietly, absorbing every single word. Then, she carefully chose her own words. “You said I was a warrior once. When I started fighting my direction was clear, I knew what I wanted. I... had my own Asala. Everything I did, I did it because it needed to be done. But know” she confessed in a whisper “I lost it, Sten. I can't stop thinking about the elves. I'm not sure it was the right choice anymore.” Only now she turned to look at him. “What does the Qun has to say about something like this? You killed those farmers and you knew it was wrong, Sten. How did you cope with your conscience?”  
“So that's what it's about?” asked Sten. “Your morality?”. He kept talking without awaiting any answer. “I can't teach you the Qun, Kadan. I'm not a priest and you're not a viddhatari. But I'll tell you that”. He stared at her, a serious look on his face, “You can't undo what you've done. You need to find a way to live with that, either by recovering your previous state of mind, when you had no doubt about your actions, or by accepting their deaths as a mistake and trying to live abiding by new principles. Know this: doubt is the path one walks to reach faith, to leave the path is to embrace blindness and abandon hope. Don't avoid the issue, don't let your guilt stand in your way. Use it to create your new Asala, Kadan. That, I cannot teach you”.  
Neria slowly nodded. It made sense. Still, she had no idea how to do any of that: she had hoped Sten could offer her some way out. As of now, she knew only one person who could.

**§§**

**  
_31 Dragon_  
**  
 **  
_30 days prior the final battle._  
**

_Please, sister, wake me up_

_you've traveled far_

_Release my mind_

_Sing this song of mine_

_Save me from drowning_

_Quick, cast your spell on me_

_I sense you're finally getting near_

_Can you hear me crying?_

_I've got to break the silence_

The afternoon fog made it almost impossible to see the Tower's shape, but Neria knew exactly where to look. As Kester kept on rowing, she listened to the water's swish, careful to every single swaying of the boat. Fog. Just like 13 years ago.

 

_“I can't see it! Where is it? Where is the tower? Are we lost in the fog? Will we be taken away by the lake monsters? Just take me back to my mama.”_   
_“Now, now. Stay quiet. Listen, um... who are you, child?”_   
_“My name is Neria.”_   
_“Good. Neria, if you keep quiet I'll give you a cookie when we arrive, yes?”_

 

“I remember you, y'a know? You're the one who left with the Grey Warden” stated Kester.  
Neria gazed at him. He was older, sure, but he was still the same welcoming soul. “Do you still keep cookies for the children, Kester?”  
Kester's lips tightened. “I did. I still do. For the new children. I knew them all, y'a know? The ones killed during the attack”. Then the old man quietly stated “No more children now. Not even grown up children.” He paused, looking at her again. “You're all that's left of the Circle, Warden.”  
That simple memory was enough to talk Neria down. She was the one responsible for those deaths after all. Neither Oghren nor Zevran seemed to have anything to say. Unexpectedly, Loghain's deep voice reached her ears. “I've been there twenty years ago. We had to fight the Wardens, the orlesians and First Enchanter Remille”. His voice decreased to a whisper. “They said this tower was cursed even before it hosted the Circle. Maybe it should stay as it is now. Empty”.  
She turned to look at him: he wasn't talking with her. His gaze was fixed on the Tower, finally visible beyond the fog.  
“It's not empty. It's inhabited by their ghosts” she whispered.

 

The crossing didn't take long. Once they docked, Neria lifted up her face to get a look at the Tower. It looked higher than she remembered. So silent. Ghosts don't make noises, right? Neria had almost turned her gaze when she caught a shadow moving away from one of the third floor's window. Without thinking, she turned towards Loghain. “I'd like you to take care of Knight-Commander Greagoir and explain him our tactical plan. I'd...” she hesitated “..like to take a look at the Tower. It was my home, after all.” The lie left her lips easily. He needn't to know her real reasons. She cast a look towards Zevran and Oghren. They needn't either. They all nodded. Since her last outburst, her companions had done their best to not anger her. As a result, only Morrigan, Sten and sometimes Loghain dared to talk to her. Not that she had much to communicate.  
The quartet entered the hall. It hadn't changed a bit, except for the mages' absence. But after all, mages usually didn't wander around that area. Mages had no reason to leave. The Knight-Commander had his back turned on them. She looked around for a couple of seconds, searching for that familiar face. Many templars were sitting and enjoying their meal, but he wasn't there.  
“Knight-Commander Greagoir” she called.  
The templar turned to face them. As a man used to guard mages and keep an eye on every single gesture and expression, he stared at them, carefully examining each one of them. “Warden Surana. To what do I owe the pleasure?” he inquired. There was no hint of sarcasm into his voice: no need, his gaze was surely not one of a pleased man.  
“I put together a tactical plan. Warden Loghain is going to explain you the templar's task” she answered, without flinching. To the hell with Greagoir and his suspicion. “I'd like to take a walk inside the Circle, if you don't mind”. She slightly moved her hand pointing at the templars. “It's lunch time, I notice. I won't harass your men.” Despite her peaceful intention, she let a bit of vitriol slip out.  
Greagoir cast her his scolding look. “Go ahead. You're a walking mystery, Surana. I don't get what would you want from a place you contributed in burning to the ground, but go ahead. Just don't make it a habit.”  
Neria stared at the templar. Part of her wanted to remind him who she was, the General of the army against the Blight, surely not one of his mages anymore. A whispering voice inside her head prevented her, though. There were ghosts there, and they didn't deserve to be disrespected in favour of some petty quarrel. Before turning her back on the Knight-Commander and her companions, she caught Zevran looking at her worryingly.  
Neria Surana reached the big, metal doors leading to the heart of Kinloch Hold and left the present behind her.

_Thud_

_“Let me go! I said let me go, open the door and let me out!” the red-headed child shrieked. She tried to wiggle out of the young apprentice's hold. No use. That blond-haired elf kept holding her tight into her arms. But the child was no novice, she knew what to do. So, she bit the elf's hand as hard as she could._  
 _“Aw! Stupid child!” the elf cried, letting go of her._  
 _However, before she could even touch the double metal door someone else stopped her, catching her wrist. The red-headed child turned to look at whoever it was in disdain. How dare he? As she saw the man smiling, though, she fell silent even before talking. “See? It wasn't that difficult, Leorah. You just have to smile a little more” he told the elven woman, who snorted in response._  
 _“The child's a demon, I tell you, Irving. She's all yours, if you're so eager”_  
 _The human man waved her words away with a simple gesture and turned again to smile at the child. “If you are here with us, it means you are special. Would you like to learn to make fire and ice appear at your command?”_  
 _The child smiled in response. A big, happy smile. “Can we do it now? Can you show me?”. Irving lifted his index. “Your name first. That's the basic of education. That, and a little please upon a request. I am First Enchanter Irving, and you are..?”_  
 _Her name? And a word more? It didn't seem much to ask for. “My name is Neria Surana. Please, can you show me?”_

 

Neria Surana opened her eyes. She was no child and Irving was no more. The thought caused her a wave of uneasiness, and she found herself looking around. It had seemed so real, so vivid. Were her ghosts really here, by her side? If they were, they were hiding. Shaking her head, Neria tried to shoo the idea away. Clouded into a layer of angst, she kept walking. She could almost hear herself and the children laugh together. Did that laugh come from the students' quarters, right on her right? Was that Jowan's voice? She remembered the time when he got wet from head to toe because he had conjured water instead of ice inside a buckle placed on the top of his head. Neria stopped at the entrance of the students' quarter. Right there, into that same room, ten years ago she and the religious mage Keili had sworn eternal friendship upon a blood oath; of course, Keili had become convinced they had summoned some kind of demon and had run to the First Enchanter. The Tower had been a prison, but also the only family worth remembering. At least, until she had started demanding to leave the building once in a while and was denied the request every single time.

_They tied a knot on my life_

_It gets tighter when I try to hide._

_I teach myself how to stay calm_

_When they wish to behold me_

_“I'm not asking for much, dammit! I just want one hour on Kester's boat!” the eleven-year-old child yelled. Her fists tightened, her jaw harsh, she was staring at Irving, the First Enchanter._  
 _The First Enchanter sighed. “I cannot allow it, child. Rules are rules, and I'm not the one who makes them. Besides, if we allowed you to get out of here, even for five minutes, next time you would ask for ten minutes. Then fifteen. More and more.”_  
 _“Then you are useless. I'm going to ask the big templar” replied the stubborn child. She had already turned her back on Irving, but he held her forearm to stop her._  
 _“Greagoir wouldn't listen. Even worse. He'd start watching you more closely than he already does” Irving whispered. Without speaking, he pointed her the chair near his desk. The child didn't run from him, but neither moved to obey._  
 _“Just five minutes. Deal?” the First Enchanter bargained._  
 _“Not even one more” she agreed, her usual defiant look into her eyes._  
 _As the girl took place, Irving sat beside her. Rallying all his patience, he started his speech, “I understand, child. I really do. You probably miss your family and your freedom. You have the same defiant look I abandoned not long ago.”_  
 _The eleven years girl looks doubtfully at him, but abstained from any kind of comment._  
 _“You want freedom, just like any mage. Or at least the majority of them. The only kind of freedom for a mage, though, comes from diligence, hard work and self-control. The more you act rebellious, the more the templars will supervise you. The more you keep calm and quiet, the less they will feel the need to check on you. Do you understand me?”_  
 _She nodded, a serious, focused expression on her face._  
 _“Problem is, you're a troublemaker. You annoy the other students, you bother both the templars and the enchanters. At this rate, you'll never get your ticket to the highest liberty a mage can earn.”_

 

Irving. So caring, so fatherly. The only adult she could trust as a child. And yet, the same person who had taught her how to be sly, deceptive, insincere. Irving was right, it was the only way out, but he had never known how deep her hate was rooting. Adamaris, Cedric and every single student she had tormented and criticized didn't matter: they were nothing more than outlets for her rage and her hate, feelings she had to pour out in some way. She remembered. Hours and hours of training, study, practice. If she wasn't allowed be free, she would have become the star pupil of Kinloch Hold. She could still feel her rage, she could still hear her utterly controlled replies to templars and enchanters, as well as her cruel mockery towards her fellow students. At first, it had been just a matter of survival: someone had to pay for her dead dreams and her imprisonment. Then, little by little she had started enjoying it. She had begun to love how the children had cried as she was showing them how much more powerful and talented she was. Later, as she had grown into an attractive woman, she had claimed almost every mage of the Tower. She had fed upon their awe, she had taken advantage of their loneliness as well as she had sated hers.  
She had planned it all: enough mockery to unload her feelings, not enough to get in trouble. And finally, once she would have gathered enough power, she would have fled her prison.   
Sadly, every plan has its flaw. And she knew very well what hers had been.  
Neria entered the library: Now, deprived of its books and its students, it looked lonely, but it hadn’t always been that way.

_In my dreams, I climb the hills I see_

_and let a gentle breeze lead me to_

_plains I once have seen and_

_Clear blue sky, I swim in lakes I find_

_I build a house right there_

_that you can't take, never take away_

_Each student was allowed one weekly night off, which meant to be allowed to remain in the library as long as he, or she, liked, provided that a templar remained on watch. During the late hours, the Circle library was at its quietest. She loved her nights off, and she loved them even more when her guard was ser Cullen._  
 _“Did you really visit the Hinterlands, ser Cullen? And are the Korcari Wilds as scary as they say?” she asked, carefully exploring the map not only with her eyes, but with her hands too._  
 _Cullen softly chuckled “You are as curious as a child, miss Surana” he commented. A smile appeared on his lips, and she smiled back. “I never had the chance to visit the Wilds. But I traveled through the Hinterlands, yes. They're a land of fields and villages. You know, I lived in ...”_  
 _“A-ah! Let me try a guess” she exclaimed, placing her index on his lips. As she saw the man blushing, she smiled once again. “If I manage to, I get a price. Your choice. Deal?”_  
 _Still reddened on his cheeks, Cullen reluctantly nodded. “A price of my choice, miss. Deal”._  
 _The girl laid her index on the map's border, then moved it casually along the paper. “I say...” she started. She stopped at the village of Honnleath. “...Honnleath. So?”_  
 _The templar could hardly hide his amazement. “You didn't... not magic, did you?”_  
 _The red-haired girl shook her head, staring at him seriously. “I have no inclination towards divination spells. Where's my price?”_  
 _Suddenly embarrassed, the templar looked away. “I- I really shouldn't. But in a couple of days I'm living to visit my family. I'll get something for you, miss.”_  
 _The mage didn't bother to conceal her displeasure. And she gave voice to it, too. “I suppose it means that next time someone else will watch me. Do you miss your family?”. She turned to look at him, noticing how he looked surprised._  
 _“I do, miss Surana. You know” he began telling, lowering his voice “I used to climb the hills and stare at the Hinterlands. Not far from Honnleath there's a lake too. It's nowhere as big as lake Calendhad, but in summertime its waters are fresh enough to offer relief from the heat. It's no big village, but that's my home.”_  
 _The young girl kept listening, her eyes lowered on the ground. She didn't say a word in return. She had no home to go back to, nor the chance to do so. She felt his bigger, callous hand covering hers. The touch was somewhat hesitant, almost shy. She turned to face him, quietly._  
 _“I am sorry. I haven't thought... I know you can't...” he started, his eyes locked into hers. Using his free hand, he pulled out a metal locket from behind his armor. As he placed it into her hands, cupping them both with his, he declared “On this medallion, a smith carved a picture of Honnleath. I want you to keep it, miss. As a reminder that one day once in a while you will be able to enjoy your own hill and your own lake. I know you miss the outside world, and I hope this will help you feel it nearer, a little bit more... yours.”_

 

The echo of the past slowly died. 

She still remembered every single detail of that conversation. While her fellow students envied her, almost any male mage looked at her like she was a chunk of meat and the enchanters considered her nothing more than the star pupil, Cullen was different from any templar and from any Circle's resident. Every templar treated her like a ticking bomb, except him. He actually listened to her and cared for her feelings. For the rest of the Tower, she had been the alpha bitch, the insufferable star pupil: for him, she had been the kind elven girl she would have been in a different life. No wonder she had fallen for him. First, he had gifted her with his own dreams, then he had denied her those some dreams in refusing to run away with her. As Neria walked towards the chapel, she knew.  
Into her mind appeared Jowan and Lily. Their confession, their request. The way they looked at each other, their hands touching lightly. No, she would have stopped them. Jowan and Lily weren't allowed to have the life she had been denied. 

All the pieces came together, and with horror Neria finally understood: Cullen was the reason why she had condemned Jowan and the whole Circle.

_I'll make them bleed down at my feet_

_I'm going to haunt them down all the way_

As Neria kept walking through the rounded corridors of Kinloch Hold she remembered the day she had come asking for help against the Blight, the Grey Warden treaty into her hands. And yet, despite her duty Cullen had been everything she had thought about as Greagoir had filled her in about the abomination's invasion. She had kept wondering whether Cullen was dead or alive. Closing her eyes, staircase after staircase, the mage relived everything: her fights, her searching every templar body praying every time that it wasn't him. Another memory surfaced: an abomination wearing Adamaris' necklace agonizing in a puddle of blood. Ironically enough, she could understand her fellow apprentice at last: just like her, she had been hungry for power. Perhaps, all Adamaris had been searching for was a little bit of recognition. Suddenly, she desired she had closed poor Adamaris' eyes that day: instead, all she had into her mind was her wrath towards the mages, beings foolish enough to rebel without a good plan and probably responsible for Cullen's death. One corridor after another, it had seemed almost impossible to find him alive.  
Step by step, she reached the last door before the Harrowing Chamber. She hesitated. She was aware that it was utterly impossible, but she was afraid to open the doors only to find him caged again and suffering under the demon's torment. She could almost see him: that sight had marked the destruction of the Circle. She had sworn that every mage would have paid for what had been done to her man.  
Finally, she drew a deep breath before pushing the doors. And here he was: not caged anymore, not trapped under the demon's claws. Cullen was standing at the base of the staircase leading to the Harrowing chamber.

The templar turned towards her. There was no sign of surprise into his eyes. And when he talked, no sign of rage into his voice. He was the quiet self she had learned to admire. “I saw you and your friends reaching the Tower”. He paused, briefly. “What... are you doing here?”  
For a full-clock minute, she could but stare at him. He never urged her: he simply waited. And for the first time in her life, Neria Surana was unsure about what to say. “What about you, Cullen? This is the last place where I would have expected to meet you.”  
Cullen moved, walking towards a precise spot, the space between the staircase and the door: the spot where he had been caged by Uldred's magic. “I come here often. I.. force myself to live that experience again. I have to, or I would be running from my own fears while I have to be more prepared instead, should it happen again”. He silently stared at the ground, then raised his gaze to meet hers. “I never thanked you. You did the right thing, back then. I never had a chance to tell you how proud of you I am. And I am sorry for the way I treated you the night before your Harrowing.”  
That was a dream come true. Neria couldn't count the times she had craved for him to consider her worthy. And yet, it looked like not even those words were unable to warm her inside. “Have you ever loved me, Cullen?” she asked in a soft whisper.  
She heard his steps, and watched him cancel the distance between them. “I still do, Neria. Despite you being a mage and me a templar, I still love you”. As he found her hands with his own, she looked directly into his eyes. He wasn't stuttering and he wasn't blushing. “But it doesn't matter. It cannot matter, because of what we are. You can't deny your nature, and I can't be anything but a templar. My feelings have made me lead you on for a long time. Some part of me kept hoping for a future for us, but it's... we have always been nothing but a utopia. An impossible dream. And you deserve an apology”.  
Neria could feel his thumbs caressing her palm, her fingers. As he talked, she locked that memory inside of her heart, somewhere where it could be safe from any kind of damage. And for the first time in her life since she was a child, she chose to let a vulnerable thought out. “Some part of me had always known. I 've always been aware, Cullen, but you were my only hope to cling to and I refused to admit it”. She looked at the templar, her first love, and noticed his relieved expression. She lowered her voice into a murmur, her gaze locked into hers. “I'll always cherish the memory of you and me, Cullen”. She gently disentangle her hands from his, and reached for the Honnleath's locket around her neck. While she placed it into his hands, hers were trembling a little. Neria closed his fingers around the locket.  
Without a word, Cullen nodded, clearly accepting that peculiar gift.  
“I have a whole world to explore now. I don't need to dream about hills and lakes anymore” she whispered, attempting a smile. Neria slowly broke their hand's hug. “Farewell, Cullen. Live long and happily”.  
The templar stole her one last, soft kiss on her palm.

 

Turning away from him and her past, she couldn't deny it anymore: she had murdered the closest to a family she ever had in exchange for the hope of an impossible dream.

**§§**

**  
_31 Dragon_  
**  
 **  
_20 days prior the final battle._  
**

_Remember, when your dreams have ended_

_Time can be transcended_

_I live forever_

_Remember me_

Spying from behind the curtains of her tent, Neria could see Zevran moving back to his own tent. After all, why sharing a tent if not for mutual pleasure? Since he had declined her offer for some more fun, he had no reason to sleep beside her anymore. She didn't need to ask why: their agreement didn't include emotional support, and he had rejected her not much after their conversation about her past. She had to admit she wasn't acting any more like the careless, in a way easy-going woman, she used to be. His reasons were crystal clear and, in her opinion, pretty reasonable. It didn't matter to her. Not anymore, not after her visit to the Circle and those new awarenesses.  
Absently minded, she kept polishing her dagger as she let her thoughts flow on. The Ferelden map laid on her lap failed to catch her attention. Since her visit to Kinloch hold, she couldn't stop thinking how she had murdered a whole Dalish clan simply for vengeance and the whole Circle for the sake of a love utopia. She had achieved vengeance, power, a reputation, but now she had to live with her sins. Was that everything she had harvested?  
Suddenly, a sharp pain bit her hand. Looking down, she saw a red cut on her palm, as well as the blood flowing away and staining the map's border. Cursing, she managed to hold on a rag and pressing it on the cut.

 

“You commanded my presence, Warden” a deep, manly voice said.   
She raised her gaze to meet Loghain's eyes, and before she could offer any kind of answer he took two quick steps reaching her. Without asking any kind of permission, the man held her wounded hand. Neria startled, too surprised to talk at all. What was he doing? What did he care?  
She stared at him, a glint of quiet curiosity into her eyes. “If you allow me, Warden, I'll bandage it. It's nothing but a scratch, but even scratches should be treated properly. Unless...” she met his gaze, and he paused for a couple of seconds. Not much, but enough to be noticed. Suddenly, her hand fell on the map. He had let go. Loghain continues, a bit grouchy “...you wish to use your magic. Just, let's not stain the maps, hm?”

She could hear him loud and clear. Nevertheless, when her blood stained both the Brecilian Forest and Kinloch Hold, she found herself unable to reply. Was that a sick joke? Pain, anger and guilt roared inside her. That roar ceased abruptly when the man moved her hand away. Now, she was ready to face the former Teyrn again.  
“The map. Right. You seem obsessed with maps, but I guess you have your reasons. They're useful, after all” she stated, a bit wryly. She knew herself enough to identify that sarcastic tone as self-defence. “Anyway, I'd appreciate it, Loghain. I..” she hesitated, just a bit “don't wish to use magic in every single circumstance.” And pointing as the tent exit, she added “Let's take care of it by the campfire. We're on watch tonight”.

Without commenting any further, the man nodded and followed her outside. “I'm fond of maps. You're right” he told her. As time went by, she had learned that he wasn't a man much open towards intimacy. He exposed a piece of himself once in while.

“Any news from Arl Eamon? Or any other ally?” he asked, getting back to business.  
It was a clear spring night, but no one else was around. Everyone, it seemed, was busy sleeping, Even her mabari was settled in by the fire. As the pair reached the campfire, the wardog lifted up his head, yawned and almost immediately went back to sleep.  
When they both sat by the fire, Loghain dipped a clean rag into the water jug used during dinner and began to delicately clean her wound. Neria wondered where he had learned: she didn't dare to ask, though. “He didn't send word. We're in the dark, we can only speculate what the darkspawn will strike. We have postulated a defense plan for every big settlement, and that's all we can do, for now.” She glanced at him and spoke nothing more than the truth. “A plan we may need to transform completely, should the circumstances call for it. If that will be the case, I could use your help. I'm no strategist, and you're the Hero of the River Dane. You won many battles”.  
He offered no answer. He seemed focused on bandaging her hand now. Furthermore, no need for him to talk. He had already pledged his allegiance to her cause, right? Neria found herself wondering what he was hiding. Guilty of many crimes, yet as quiet as anyone. Confident, but almost never presumptuous. Respectful, but never warm to anyone. 

Then, the question made it to her lips before she could actually process it. “Why are you doing this?” she found herself asking, pointing with her chin to her bandaged head and so making him clear what she is referring too.

Though he doesn't answer immediately, it's clear he heard her, because he's staring at her intently. Then, he quietly replied. “I told you. I decided following your orders was worth it. So it's my duty. You know I respect you, your strength and her determination. You're a leader, Neria, and as an elf you deserve my respect even more. You proved me wrong, and you gave me a chance to redeem. Therefore, standing by your side and assist you in our task is the less I can do.” He finished tying the bandages, taking it a careful look. “It should be tightened enough not go get loose. As a child, Anora used to bustle about her bandages so much that she ended up losing them wherever she and Calian used to go playing together, but I trust you will avoid that childish behavior.”

So that's what it was about? Being an elf? He was the one arm in arm with slavers. She cast him a grim look. Did that mean he considered all elves nothing more than toys? Then, she remembered: she was the one who murdered her own kin. Who was the worst one? Sten hadn't been able to help her. If anyone could provide her with an answer and help her suffocating her own guilt, it was him. Unable to bring herself to disclose her dilemma, she struggled to find the right words.

Finally, she shyly, softly inquired “Do you ever think back on the deads, Loghain? Or the past?”

She had never seen him surprised, until now. For a moment, she was afraid he wouldn't have answered. It wasn't exactly a neutral nor impersonal question. Then, she heard his reply. “No, Warden. It would be no use. I've always had a too much big task to accomplish: first serving Maric, now ending the Blight. The deads remain dead.”

She turned her gaze upon the starred sky. A memory flashed through her brain: her mother and her under the stars, her caressing voice, the stories of her people. “They're always with us” she stated, softly. Now her mama was talking to her, and she was retelling her words. “They're the nightly stars, they're the voice in the cold wind whispering to us and calling across the sky. They reach out to us... and this way, they help us remember them. We do remember them, and that's why as long as the linger in our memory they never die.” There was a lump in her throat now, and she was aware her voice was croaking a little. “They never leave us because they are what we've done. They become us.”

As a cloud covered the stars, Neria blinked. She had no idea what has gotten into her, and she turned almost expecting to find an annoyed expression on the former Teyrn's face. Instead, he was looking at her almost astonished. Unsure about how to answer, she chose the easy way out. “We should get back to work” she briskly commanded. She was once again the ruthless, impatient, bossy Warden Surana. Ignoring the confused look on his face, she unwrapped the Ferelden map.


	5. Road of no release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warden Surana faces just one of those things. 
> 
> And of course, the whispering of demons is never that far from a mage.

# ROAD OF NO RELEASE

**_31 Dragon_ **  
**_15 days prior to the final battle_ **

_My worst dreams_

_I can't leave them_

_I'm the black queen_

_Here in barren lands_

_What can I do_

_On this road to nowhere?_

She, Morrigan, Zevran and Sten were traveling towards the village called Honnleath. There, according to the merchant who had sold them the rod they were supposed to find a golem ready to come into service. There, in southern Ferelden, it was almost summer: the air was lukewarm though not humid, but the sunlight looked somewhat faint, veiled. The last forest's traces ran along their path, offering some spots of shadow. Step after step, though, the forest was turning into isolated bushes. They miraculously hadn't been attacked by any darkspawn.

“As far as I know, Honnleath is not that far from the Wilds. Is that right, Morrigan?” Neria asked the witch.  
“That's right. It's almost as far as Lothering, but while Lothering is...” Morrigan corrected herself “...was on the northern border, to reach Lothering from mother's hut you have to travel through the wilds and reach the western border”. The witch turned up her nose. “I've never been to Honnleath. It's too near to Redcliffe. In fact” she pointed at a blue, shining round-like area “I think that's..”  
“The lake near Honnleath. I know” Neria interrupted her. “And that hill should give a visual on the Hinterlands. Correct?”  
Morrigan cast her a dazed look. “That's correct. Either you lived in the Wilds, lived in Redcliffe or you mages of the Circle seriously sweat blood on your books.”  
“The third one. We really... study a lot at the Circle” Neria thoughtfully whispered.

A sudden rustling interrupted her thoughts and alarmed the whole quartet. Sure enough, the merchant had warned them: the village and its proximity were overrun by darkspawns. As of now, they perfectly knew how to deal with those beasts: Neria and Morrigan moved back from the rustling place, Sten remained by the bushes waiting for the enemy and Zevran kneeled near a pair of bushes, ready to assist Sten and backstab some enemy. Through that technique, the group had often managed to trap their enemies into a pincer movement.  
Two hurlocks and three genlocks appeared, and once again, practice and experience didn't fail them. While Sten kept two hurlocks at bay thanks to his Asala, Zevran leaped from one genlock to another moving from shadow to shadow, as Neria and Morrigan contributed in bringing down them. It was an easy fight. Too easy, maybe, Neria found herself thinking.  Wondering where the emissary, or at least the ogres, were hidden.  
Suddenly, a familiar feeling alerted her. Darkspawn coming. More and more. “Morrigan, move! More are coming!” Neria cried, running to her left.  
The shriek’s blade darted so near her arm that a flow of air brushed her cheek. The mage turned to engage their enemies, finding themselves face to face with three shrieks. Hearing an electricity crackling from Morrigan's hand, Neria chose Crushing Prison as her weapon. The bastards would better be ready to enjoy a monumental shock, one they couldn’t escape from. One shriek, though, had moved faster than she could have expected and was charging her, his blade lifted and ready to rip her heart away; Neria quickly redirected her spiritual energy ball towards the beast, blocking it into a deadly trap. And then the electricity crackling, the sword clanging and the beast's death howling muted.  
Under the shriek's beastly looks, she could see what it once had been. Soft skin, pointed ears, delicate hands, chestnut brown eyes appeared in front of her. Chestnut brown eyes like her father. Those were her father's eyes. Red, arterial blood was spurting from his chest. The elf coughed, and his lips painted red. Finally, he lifted up her gaze, meeting Neria's. “Why, da'len? We had no choice” the elf murmured. 

Shaking, Neria felt her knees getting weak. An excruciating pain rose somewhere in the left side of her abdomen. The world recovered its voice and a triumphant shrieking filled her ears. Before her sight clouded over, she glimpsed a shriek's blade piercing her skin and a pair of elven hands preventing her from falling. Then everything went black.

**_§§_ **

The light returned after an indefinable amount of time. It came back hurting her eyes so much that Neria covered her face using her left forearm and tried to roll on her side. A shooting pain punched her, and two fresh hands led her to lay on her back again. Blinking, the elf managed to focus on her surroundings. Both Morrigan's sharpened face and her voice reached her senses. She was laying down in her tent.  
“You're awake. Good. For a while, I thought you were a goner” Morrigan stammered.  
Neria turned her face enough to see the lamp sitting not far from her bandaged chest. Bandaged? “What happ...” she began inquiring. Then, everything came back to her mind. The fight, the shriek, her father. She tightened her lips, her face getting darker and darker. The pain still pulsating.  
Morrigan, clearly smart enough to understand that a reply wasn't needed anymore, She offered a technical explanation instead. “The beast got your spleen. You are a lucky woman, trust me. It didn't cut off any arteries, even though the blade was dangerously near to your heart. You have to rest for a couple of days, and from time to time I'll come here to change your bandages and clean your wound”. She attempted a soft joke. “That's becoming a habit. Let's not have it happening again”.  
Remaining silent, Neria did nothing more than nodding. Her friend was clearly expecting her to say something: she didn't care at all.  
Cautiously, the witch of the Wilds sat beside her, inspecting her face. After a while, Neria heard her asking “How did it happen, my friend? You're a perfectionist at heart. You just had to turn had crushed the beast's heart with another ice spike.”  
The Warden's words came out mechanically and coldly. She could practically smell Morrigan's concern, but she couldn't help it. “I got distracted. I'm human, you know?”. She grimaced a moment after. “Well, technically I'm not. You know what I meant.”  
Morrigan sighed, shaking her head. She didn't give up. “Neria, the shriek appeared in front of you and shrieked before attacking. You were frozen in place. That's a bit more than being distracted.” She was practically begging her. “You know you can tell me.”

No, she could not. She wouldn't have been able to bore even a single person looking at her like she was a lunatic, or worse, with pity. She could not let her companions doubt her ability to lead. And she knew very well she was lying to herself: she desperately didn't want them to know how she had craved to murder her parents for having surrendered her to those slavers. No one had to know the real reason why she had slaughtered the Dalish clan. They wouldn't have understood.

“While I'm blocked in here, Sten and Loghain will take care of everything” she declared instead.  
The other woman fell into a defeated silence. Neria could practically see into her brain: Morrigan was deciding whether to insist or to let the issue go. “You know we can't trust the traitor, Neria. Yes, he's been useful, but that doesn't mean we can trust him.”  
Defiance. That, she could face. The Warden turned to look Morrigan right into her eyes, calling for her 'Warden voice': bossy, harsh, demanding. “They work well together. You're not dense, Morrigan, and you know one person alone can't prepare us to the battle or lead the camp. Sten would search his advice anyway.”  
Morrigan curtly stood, clearly huffy. “We can't trust him” she grunted.  
In response, Neria cast Morrigan a sharp look. “You will trust who I order you to. Feel free to let everyone know.”  
Surprisingly, the witch abandoned her stubborn attitude. She turned quieter, almost saddened. “No one can order trust. Not even you, my friend. You are one of us, even though sometimes the bard or the Gilmore knight don't approve of your decisions. Sten never tried to kill you, he never sent assassins. The traitor did. And personally, I don't like him.”

The Warden refused to continue the conversation. Unable to turn her back to the dark haired woman, she closed her eyes clearly signaling that the conversation was over.  
               
And then the weirdest of the images flickered behind her eyelashes: a fight she had almost forgotten, something who hadn't popped up inside her mind while she was walking around the empty and lonely Kinloch Hold. A pair of flaming, full of rage eyes looked right into hers, and absurdly she knew they were familiar. Those were the eyes of the rage demon trapped inside the Circle's basement. She relived the whole fight, and noticed something she had never grasped before. The demon had always, always gone for her, she had been his target for the whole length of the attack. And just before it had finally collapsed down at her feet, it had whispered its name into her ear and cursed her.

_I am Shah Wyrd. I knew you would have ruined us all, and hereby I curse you._

Panicking, Neria opened her eyes again. Breathing heavily, she immediately looked around. She was alone. Despite that, terrified of what she might have encountered and of what a demon whispering could mean, she struggled to not fall asleep again.

**_§§_ **

**_31 Dragon_ **  
**_12 days prior to the final battle_ **

Two voices woke her up from a dreamless sleep. In truth, no one had entered the tent: she could only see two shadows outside of it. One was tall and slender, the other shorter and podgy. She could hear muffled voices.  
“How am I supposed to know if she's awake?” asked a dwarven one.  
“What about you go take a look? I'll keep the bowl” replied an Antivan one.

The mage sighed. How long were they going to keep that up? Old, dear Oghren. Always the darling one, but still the only one able to make her laugh. “Just come in. I'm not sleeping” she called out.

Shifting the tent's curtains, Oghren and Zevran entered. The Antivan was bringing a bowl, possibly her dinner, while Oghren was holding a flask.  
“So, a dwarf and an elf enter a tent and...” started Oghren. But he dropped the joke almost immediately, offering her a smile. “How are you, boss?” His smile faded. “The witch told us you may have been a goner.”  
Neria moved her gaze from one to the other. Zevran hadn't talked yet, but even she could see his look was filled with apprehension. She suddenly felt embarrassed. “I'm not bad for an elf, am I Oghren? Say, how many of your dwarven friends would be joking on their wounds?” she cockily responded.  
“How's your wound, Warden?” Zevran cut in. His eyes had never left her, his tone was warm. He looked so different from the flirty assassin she had met.  
“It still hurts. I can't turn on a side, and” she reached out towards the bowl he was holding. “I'm afraid that if that's my dinner you will have to help me straighten my back.”  
It took Zevran only a moment to come to her side. Leaving the bowl on the ground, he placed one arm around her shoulders sustaining the base of her back with the other. Feeling the edges of the wound scraping, Neria grunted in pain. “A little more” she panted, when Zevran stopped the movement leaving her back half laid down.  
“If you're sure” he murmured, uncertain. It took them only a little more effort and it was done.  
Once put with her back straight, she turned towards Oghren. “Hand me the bowl, please. I won't be spoon-fed, and if any of you insists I'll feed you to the Archdemon” she claimed, staring at both men. “Am I clear?”  
“Ah-ah! You, or the elf here, are too much skinny for the Archdemon's appetite. Which means I get to be his dinner” exclaimed the dwarf. His laugh then turned to a genuine smile. “I would be glad to, if that meant for you or the Crow to be safe. That's right, boss. You're not bad for an elf. Both of you.”  
Silently, too busy in leading her bowl to her mouth, Neria listened to Oghren. Sure enough, he was a drunk and his jokes were the worst she has ever heard, but he had a golden heart all the same and by joking on almost everything he helped her in underplaying even the most serious issues. A smile grew on her lips in response. “I thought that keeping the Anvil would have angered you, Oghren. Instead, here you are, ready for a sacrifice.”  
Zevran didn't speak a word. She could feel his fingers gently caressing her back. To that touch, though, she offered no answer: no glance, no smile, nothing at all.  
“Bah!” the dwarf almost spit out “Orzammar is shit already. One, two or ten golems won't make it better or worse. And you tell me, why should I care about those underground assholes?”  
The mage nodded. Part of her understood Oghren very well. In all honesty, she couldn't blame him for despising Orzammar dwarves. Before she could open her mouth, Oghren talked again. He looked weirdly serious.  
“They are assholes. But they were right, I was a hopeless drunk crying over a mad wife. You gave me dignity, you gave me a cause and,” he gulped, avoiding her gaze in embarrassment “a friend. You are a friend, Warden. That's why I would gladly be the sacrifice instead of you, if one was needed.” His last words had been muttered, and the warrior looked more and more embarrassed. Finally Oghren knelt, patting his flask and leaving it by her side, where she could reach for it. “Here. That's Oghren’s gift for you. Drink it when you want, Warden.”  The dwarf left the tent grumbling a “goodnight”.

Now that they were alone, between her and Zevran floated an uneasy silence. Was he expecting her to say something? For now, she still had the dinner excuse. The truth, though, was that she had no idea what to tell him. They had had something going on, but now it was over and she didn't know what to do of him.  
“You scared me. Please, don't do it again” he whispered, breaking the silence. She turned, meeting his intense gaze. Confused, she wondered why he was acting like that.  
“I'm sorry, I did what?” Neria asked, giving voice to her doubts. “We are fighting companions, and at times someone gets hurt during the fighting. That's all”. She stiffened her expression. “Just to be clear, I'm no damsel in distress. I can take care of myself. Got it?”  
If she didn't know the assassin any better, she would have sworn he was... wounded. Maybe the Archdemon planned on destroying her by transforming all her companions into someone else. First Oghren, now Zevran?  
“I don't want you to get hurt, Neria. I almost lost you today, while I should have been by your side to defend you" he whispered, looking at the ground. "Not” he quickly clarified “because you're in any way a damsel in distress, but because you needed help. Just that one time, you needed help and I wasn't there.”  
She could feel both pain and anger in Zevran's voice. Utterly confused, still shaken by her waking nightmare, she took shelter in her usual grouchiness.  
“Right. I needed someone's help and you were all too busy. Explain this to me, Zevran” she snapped.  
His answer was a resigned, hurting look. He got the empty bowl from her hands, helped her in laying down again and simply left. Finally, she had gotten what she wanted at: solitude.

And it was probably better this way: she had no personal business with the assassin anymore. However, the confrontation had left her exhausted. As she drifted into sleep again, she saw it all again. Herself smashing the Ashes' urn and lying to Leliana. Allowing unconvinced dwarves to become stone statues. Annihilating Kinloch Hold. Herself slaughtering innocent elves. _Personal_ meant someone else knowing what she felt. After all, it was probably better to leave _personal_ out of the picture.


	6. There's something, there's someone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the final battle approaches, Neria Surana feels less and less ready for the fight.  
> And that's when a key confrontation with Loghain takes place.
> 
> She'll learn that he's not even remotely a tamed beast. Nor what she expected of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a bit of glossary, in order to describe the fencing cuts mentioned at the end of the chapter. I didn't want to bore you all with a fencing lesson, so here is a bit of explanation.
> 
> **_Cleaving blow_** : the cleaving blow is a descending vertical cut. It cuts in a vertical line from up to down.  
>  ** _Rising blow_** : the rising blow is a rising vertical cut. It cuts in a vertical line from down to up.  
>  ** _Sgualembro_** : the sgualembro is a downwards diagonal cut. It cuts diagonally from a shoulder to the opposite flank.  
>  ** _Tondo_** : the tondo is a horizontal cut. It cuts in a horizontal line.  
>  ** _Ridoppio_** : the ridoppio is a rising diagonal cut. It cuts diagonally from a flank to the opposite shoulder.

# THERE'S SOMETHING, THERE'S SOMEONE

**_31 Dragon_ **  
**_12 days prior to the final battle ** __**_**

**_**__** _ **

_Truth is a beast_

_With a sad face_

_A demon_

_The cruelest of all_

It had been three days now. Three lonely days, for the most part: Morrigan came to her twice a day to check on her wound, using her herbs when needed, but she never lingered to talk. Every one of them had asked her if she felt better, but none of them had seemed willing to linger by her side, except for Oghren and Sten: while she had expected Sten to stop by, the dwarf had been a pleasant surprise. Neria had always considered the dwarf the funny, drunken type, but step by step he was revealing a more serious, caring side. Sometimes, she surprised him looking at her with a somewhat fatherly look on his face. He never pushed her into getting back to the “outside” world, and she was grateful for that. On the other hand, both Morrigan and Sten were urging her to get back in the field: on the second day the witch had encouraged her to speed the healing process using her healing powers. The day after Sten had come in and told her how Ser Gilmore and Zevran had started antagonizing Loghain, and himself too when he had agreed with the former Teyrn. Sten had asked her to at least talk to them: she was the leader. Neria had assured him that she would summon them both, but she had never done anything of the sort. It simply wasn’t necessary, as both Zevran and Gilmore were both reasonable adults, who would have come to term with the change. Eventually, all her companions would have ended up accepting that she needed more time by herself. She had never appreciated her tent more than now: it was quiet, comfortable, peaceful. She had begun to wish for the world to understand how she was nothing more than a twenty-year-old, and certainly not a general of any sort. She had never signed up for fighting an Archdemon, and all those compassion-lacking choices should have proved the point. If Wardens were called to sacrifice, she certainly wasn't the right one to lead them. They would have understood that too, in time. Some proud voice inside her kept remembering her how she used to keep in control every single thing, how she used to call the shot, how she never gave up. Now, she knew better: now, she was aware of her capabilities. She could still hear that weird voice inside her head, and she wasn't ready to let them know just yet: so, every time someone called for her, she pretended to be busy studying maps.

“May I come in, Warden?” he asked, from beneath the tent's curtains.  
She kept him waiting only a few moments, the time she needed to unroll her map. “Come in” she bade then. She carefully studied his face: behind his “General mask”, he looked weary. She could see the signs of many nights of poor sleep.  
Kneeling beside her, he opened his hands to reveal a bunch of wooden-carved and stylized figures. “I told you I would have taken care of these” he started. Then, pointing at the map “Since you're working on tactics, they might come in handy.”  
The elven mage nodded and began collecting the wooden pieces. Moving the carved figures from one hand to another, she kept quiet,  He did not.  
“I've been dreaming the Archdemon. Just as you forewarned me. I feel it's getting near day by day. Do you..?” Loghain asked, lowering his voice.  
She stopped playing with the figures. Turning to face him, she read a real emotion on his face. Angst. “It happens, yes. We will be ready” she promised. She tried hard to sound convincing, but still, her voice came out as a scared whisper. It took her only a second to realize her mistake: she looked away, waiting for the inevitable lecture.  
“Warden... Neria. You know I've fought many battles. Do you seriously think I've never been scared? Do you think those dreams don't scare the shit out of me? It's a gigantic dragon, after all” Loghain confessed, his eyes searching for hers. “I was like you once, somewhat new to command. During the Orlesian occupation, me and my father guided a rebel’s camp. I wasn’t new to fighting and finding ways to stay alive, but leading people...” he shook his head “is another matter. However, while I had three years to learn before the... final show, you got only one. I get it, Neria. You are scared.”  
Neria flinched under those words and that look. That wasn't supposed to happen. Too overwhelmed to talk right immediately, she cleared her throat. Her hands began tormenting the wooden figures again. “Could we just leave the issue?” she asked. Lying wouldn't have helped, and on the other hand if she had said she wasn't scared he would have questioned her even more.  
The man nodded in agreement. “We can”. He paused barely a second before continuing, shattering her relief. “As long as you get out of here, Warden. You need to train and get ready for what awaits us. The witch told me your wound is almost healed by now, which means nothing is keeping you holed up here.” He stared at her for a brief moment. “You and I can engage our fear by ourselves, but it may not be the same for your companions. And if that was the case, no one could lead and encourage them but you. You are what my father was for those rebels. So, act like who you are.”  
Suddenly, Neria felt naive. Of course there would have been a lecture, and frankly she had been lucky it hadn't happened before. Why couldn't they all just let her curl under the sheets? “I disagree, Loghain” she stated, striving to make her voice sound steady. “You're much as capable as me. You and Sten. I am the General the Queen appointed, so how come that I'm not allowed to nominate my seconds in command?” Looking at him, Neria knew right away: bad answer. He was staring at her more sternly than she had ever seen him.  
“I'll spell it clear for you Warden. I'm assuming you don't know how command works” he commenced. “First of all, the moment you defeated me you accepted the burden. Would it have been one of your warriors, you could maybe just step off and empower him, or her. But not only you chose to battle me yourself, you also defeated me in a matter of minutes. So, no, you don't get to walk away because you're the general. It’s quite the contrary.”  
“I'm sorry, am I hearing that correctly? Do I get to be complimented and scolded at the same time?” Neria sarcastically asked. She knew it was nothing but self-defense: part of her was aware he was right. And she still hated to be wrong.

“Just cut the crap, will you?” Loghain almost growled. Even though he didn't move from where he was sitting, she could see his fists clenching. “You have been smart enough to conquer the whole Landsmeet, and you didn't even need to flutter your eyelashes or charm them by wiggling your hips. You managed to because you used your brain and brought up the right arguments. So, I won't say it again. Cut the crap”. He fell silent, looking at her intently.  
Once again, the mage was amazed. He had used his commanding voice all while mentioning her physical appearance. Even worse, he was right once again. “Cut to the chase” she sharply ordered. If he wanted to command her, he had to fight her first.  
Loghain seemed to relax a little. Just a little bit, she noticed: he was still committed to letting her know all he had to say. Stubborn as ever.  
“You came to know how high your companions think of me, and I suspect that 'traitor' is the most pleasing epithet I get. They don't respect me, Warden, but they do respect you, because you're the one who guided them all the way. You can be bossy, presumptuous, ruthless and commanding, but you still guided them this far. You're the one who always know what to do and what to say, and they desperately need you by their side” Loghain firmly stated.  
She couldn't quite process what he had said. Wasn't she the one each of them, for one reason or another, had criticized? He had to be mistaken. After all, he didn't know them that much. He didn't understand: they didn't need her at all. “That's none of your business, Loghain. We won't talk about this anymore” she blurted, her defenses kicking in.  
A tense, cool silence followed. Loghain's face was an unreadable, detached mask, but his voice sounded even cooler, almost sharp. “I agree. Keep talking is no use. If you keep staying holed up here, I'll assume that you don't have the guts to face her allies, and as such is not fit to guide the troops against and Archdemon. I'll assume you are a crybaby, and I'll take the matters in my own hands. They don't need to trust me, after all. They just need to obey my orders, and believe me” his blue eyes filled with unbreakable ice “I’m not afraid of thorny choices. I’ll do what it takes to keep them in line. My main priority is to take care of this Blight, not to please a bunch of sort of soldiers. If you're not able to complete this task, I will. Should you get out of here and go back to your normal self, I'll be glad to step down and have you lead us all.”  
She should have been satisfied. As much as he despised it, he was willing to accept her decision. Nonetheless, something crashed inside her. It was her pride's voice, now stronger than it had been in weeks. Not only pride: anger. He had no right to bring up her normal self. What did he know about it? In a sudden twitch, Neria jerked towards Loghain's throat, slapping him hard with the back of her hand. “I am no crybaby. You have no idea what I endured, Loghain, and as sure as hell you don't get to judge who I am.”  
The man didn't flinch. He stared right into her eyes, as adamant as ever. He even looked weirdly... pleased. “That's a start. You just have to keep it together” he smoothly dictated.  
More rage boiled into her brain. Not pride, this time: the remembrance of her deeds. One image after another punched her right into the stomach. This time, though, she didn't wilt at all. “Easy for you, isn't it? You said it yourself, you never think about the past. You don't give a fuck about the men your friend Howe tortured, or how many elves you sent in fucking Tevinter. What's your trick? I could make good use of it myself” she hissed.  
Neria wasn't prepared for the explosion of rage her words had unleashed. She had defeated him in single combat, but now she wasn't ready at all. It took him than a couple of seconds to block her wrists on the ground, pressing them through his strong hand, and to take a strong hold on her chin. She was now staring into his eyes, few centimeters away from his face.  
Before she could act in any way, Loghain talked. He articulated every single word. “Don't ever presume anything about me again. You haven't earned that right” he growled.  
She could see the ire flowing out of his eyes. Not that it stopped her from retorting. The words slipped out of her mouth before she could process them. “If I don't guard my mouth you will strike me? Is that how it is? I shouldn't be surprised. Hitting a woman would be the less of your sins” she defiantly inquired.  
Much to her surprise, he groaned and let her go, leaving the tent without another word. A tent's strip opened wide upon the external world. Neria began massaging her wrists, looking at the darkness reigning outside. And it was only when she was about to fall asleep that she noticed how Loghain had avoided shoving her or pushing her. How easy would it have been to simply pin her to the ground? He had been careful in not touching her wound in any way.  
Much later, the same night, Neria opened her eyes. The Archdemon's voice was still echoing into her mind. In her nightmare, the beast had found them and she, paralyzed by her own fear that, had watched her companions being slaughtered. One by one. Sten, Ser Gilmore, Oghren and Loghain burned alive by his flames, Zev and Leliana impaled on the dragon's claws. At last, Morrigan had been stepped on. And only then, the Archdemon had roared her his challenge.  
Still panting, she searched for her staff in the dark. In that moment, she swore she would have done her best to ward off that prophecy. She may not have been the right leader, sure as hell she was no hero, but she would have fought. She had never backed off from a fight before, she wouldn't have started now. She wasn't going to allow that beast to overcome her.  
The Blight was her only salvation, the only distraction against her past coming after her. That was the painful, horrible truth.

**_§§ ** __**_**

****  
  
_31 Dragon_

****  
  
_11 days prior to the final battle_   


_Words and dreams unite_

_I hear an ancient voice_

_It's calling for me_

Before the sun had set, Neria was already awake and ready to start the day. Her wound wasn't hurting anymore, as if clearing her mind had cleansed her body too. She tied her robes around her waist and gathered her hair into a practical bun. She had once loved leaving some locks free to play with, to emphasize her beauty: but now, playtime was over.  
Together with her mabari, she left the tent. Morrigan, who was on watch, looked at her somewhat in amazement. Neria didn't care at all. The feeble sunlight slowly lightened up the terrain enough for her to collect enough herbs to put together some sort of pudding for breakfast. It would have been a strenuous day, and they all would have needed all their strength.  
As she was pouring water into the pot, fire suddenly arose under it. She lifted up her gaze to meet Morrigan's: without a word, the two women worked on the day's breakfast together. One by one all of the companions woke up, and every one of them seemed surprised to see her standing and active. Once she met Loghain's unreadable gaze, another time she caught Zevran looking at her in relief. Oghren greeted her return with a pat on her arm, while Sten cast her a solemn look and a nod. As for Ser Gilmore, he simply acknowledged her presence through a neutral, formal greeting: considering how much the noble didn't like her, she hadn't expected more.  
As she was still sitting and eating her porridge, everyone headed towards the day's training. Their assignment was to fight together and exercising in acting as a team. Everyone except Morrigan. Morrigan was the one she had to train with.  
“You're the most expert person I know in terms of dragons, Morrigan” Neria stated. After all, her mother had been a dragon and she surely had some knowledge to share.  
“I've seen my mother turning a couple of times, yes” Morrigan confirmed “But she never taught me how to fight one. After all, it would have meant giving me tips to defeat her. Plus, I don't...” the witch of the wilds looked concerned “I'm not sure we'll face a common dragon. If we're talking magic strategies, Neria, we have no way to come to know what kind of magical attacks he's susceptible or resistant to before we find ourselves looking the beast right in the eyes. Unless” she turned to look at the Warden “Alistair has shared some kind of confidential information with you.”  
Alistair' mention prompted Neria to sneer. She had never appreciated the fellow Warden, but of now she knew he had been right about more than one thing. “Fine. Then we can only work on the strongest magical combo we know of, and practice them until we're fluent and quick enough, whatever the situation or the enemies we're facing.”  
The two women got a scarecrow ready to use as an imitation of a target. They hanged the puppet where the wind was strongest in order to provide for some real-like movement, using it for spirit and creation spells at first. They summarized the most lethal combinations at their disposal: against common darkspawns Petrify and Cold spells in general had proved than helpful, perfect means to crush the enemy in a quicker way. The same went for Virulent walking bomb, as long as they were able to attract the victim into large groups of enemies, or simply cast the spell on a darkspawn hooked into a melee. Glyph of paralysis could be used to stop a dangerous enemy, while all the kind of hexes were the best choice to weaken it. Crushing prison could be critical too. Concerning the Archdemon itself, the two mages agreed that the best course of action was first weakening it through as much hexes as possible, then, as for actually damaging it, they elected as their best bet Cold and Lightning spells and a combination of Grease and fire spells. Neria and Morrigan trained in finding the perfect timing according to the conjuring time of each spell. And finally, the whole group used the last hours of the morning to plan how mages could better cooperate with warriors and rogues: every weapon was to be enchanted with Frost weapons or Telekinetic weapons. Whenever a rogue would have been about to backstab a considerable enemy, the mages would have cast Petrify or some ice spell to prevent him from escaping and to make him vulnerable.

Sooner than they had expected, it was lunch time. Neria eyed Zevran heading towards the river. They had a score to settle, but somehow she was hesitating, A second later, she wondered once again what she was going to do against an Archdemon if she wasn't even able to clarify things with a former lover.  
“Zev?” she called, still standing near the stone she had sat on during their tactical meeting.  
The assassin slowly turned to face her. His expression was completely neutral, a fact that somewhat reassured her: not having to deal with feelings, would have made the whole matter much easier. She gathered her talk together as he approached her. He was standing, silent and obviously waiting for her to speak.  
“Blaming you and everyone present the day I got wounded had not been fair” she began. “I should be able to take care of myself. Besides, sometimes mishaps happen during combat.” Neria looked into the elf's eyes, waiting for his reaction.  
His features softened as he heard her words. Not as much she had hoped, though. “I have offered you my service, and that day I've made a poor job. You can justify me all you want, Warden. That's my burden to bear, so you needn't worry.” His voice was brimming with remorse.  
Neria kept silence, considering his words. He wasn't wrong at all: everyone had his, or her, own burdens. He was welcome to keep his own. “As you say, Zev. I...” she questioned for the sake of clarity “...trust we're all right, then. Right?”  
Zevran stared at her for quite a long time before offering any kind of answer. Sorrow, pain and some kind of intense longing mixed upon his face. “We are, Warden” he finally stated. “Now if you'll excuse me...” gesturing towards the river, he left before she could actually dismiss him.  
As Neria turned to reach her tent for a brief nap before resuming her training, she met Loghain's gaze: he was staring right where she and Zevran had been talking.

**_§§_ **

_See who I am,_

_Break through the surface._

_Reach for my hand,_

_Let's show them that we can_

_Free our minds and find a way._

_The world is in our hands,_

_This is not the end._

By that late afternoon, she and Morrigan had brushed up on almost everything on the schedule. Neria had taken the chance to have a word with Leliana too, apologizing for her previous outburst. As understanding and gentle as ever, the Orlesian rogue had reassured her: no hard feelings.  
Now, she was leaning on the remnants of a fence, witnessing Sten and Loghain's training. She had no experience with swords, but she could tell none of them was taking it easy. Sten charged any time possible, and Loghain was more than ready to return the favor every time Sten seemed vulnerable. When the two warriors took a break, they finally noticed her.  
“Kadan. We may not meet many darkspawns armed with a broadsword, but we prefer to be ready for everything” Sten stated, quietly.  
“I see” she nodded. Looking at them both, the mage added “I'd like to take part in your training, if you don't mind”  
The Qunari seemed uncertain. He took a look at her, his broadsword and Loghain. “Are you sure? You're not supposed to find yourself in the melee, Kadan. If I was you, I'd rather work on staying out of it.”  
“I think she has a point” Loghain unexpectedly cut in. “She can try her best in keeping out of the melee, true, but she may not succeed. Therefore, it would be wise for her to learn the basics of a melee weapon and counterattacking.”  
Sten kept silent for a moment: by the look on his face, Neria knew he was considering Loghain's proposal. Finally, he nodded. “You may have a point. Let's just not distract her from her primary training too much. I think you should be the one taking care of it, Loghain: a dagger or a knife would force her to engage her enemy from a too much dangerous distance, and she clearly cannot wield a broadsword. The better choice would be a longsword, and you're the best at it.” Without adding anything more, Sten took his leave.

Loghain turned to look at her, in his eyes the illegible look she had seen so often lately. Standing right in front of him, Neria tried to steal his thought. To understand what was hidden under what, she was sure after his outburst, was just a mask.  
“I believe we don't have time for a complete training, and besides, you should keep focused on magic. So we will speed things up a little” he began. “I will teach you the different cuts you could be subject to, should you find yourself into a melee, thus I will provide you with an advantage no darkspawn and no human opponent would expect you to possess. When I will be done with you, you will be able to guess where a sword is aiming to hit you, a knowledge that will give you a better chance to dodge it. Furthermore, you'll be able to tell which body parts of your opponent are going to become vulnerable. Am I clear?”  
Neria cocked her head on the right, processing the information, then she nodded. “I think so. There's something I don't get, though. What do you mean by vulnerable body parts? How does a... cut make someone vulnerable?”  
In response, he gestured her to walk backward, and once she had complied he drew a vertical line, from up to down, with his longsword. It was a swift movement, as if the weapon was truly a section of his arm. No doubt Loghain was a mature man, no doubt the youth had left his features a long time ago, a fact that surprised Neria even more has she caught herself noting how his movements in battle were fluid. How battle made him somehow young.  
Loghain inquired “Have you noticed?”.  
More concerned about the man instead of the sword movement as she was, the mage realized had missed the detail he apparently wanted her to notice. “Actually, no. I didn't” she had to admit.

He patiently repeated the movement, slower this time, then explained, “This kind of cut is called cleaving blow. To perform a cleaving bow, I have to lift up my arm and in doing so, I expose my chest entirely. It's only a matter of seconds, and if you're in range..” he paused for a moment “..which means you're near enough for the blade to cut through, you either use those seconds to dodge the cut or to take advantage of an exposed abdomen. Considering how the chest is usually protected by a breastplate, and considering that choosing to not dodge can be lethal, you could afford the luxury to not move away only if your enemy was pretty much a goner”.  
As she listened, Neria found herself admiring the man once again. His mind, this time. Not only he was committed to his duty, respectful and competent in war, but he was a competent teacher too. Still, she couldn't figure him out. A fact that for some reason drove her crazy. “So, you're going to spill out all of your secret to me, even after what I said last night? Just like that? Aren't you afraid that I might despise you and wish to try to use this knowledge to kill you, Loghain?” the mage asked, looking right into his eyes.  
In response, he stared at her, as if searching for something in her face. His sword still wielded. When he talked, his voice turned out serious, almost solemn. “It looks like you haven't listened to me at all, Warden. I said I was ready to take the reins if you had renounced to do so. I also said I was going to support you if you had decided to not ignore your responsibility. You should have your answer already.” The moment he continued talking, he turned, offering the mage his back. His voice had turned bitter, harsher. “I've been accustomed to scorn and despise since the Orlesian occupation. I can endure it.”  
Neria was at a loss of words. She hadn't expected that. She hadn't expected to find herself mirrored in that man. She herself had been nurtured in scorn, disdain and hostility, so she knew what it meant to put up a show of force every single day, no matter the turmoil inside.  
“We are past games, you and I. If there's anything you want to say, say it. Otherwise, we have some training to do.”  
His voice cut through her thoughts. She opened her mouth to talk, but she produced no sound.  
As Loghain started to walk away, she reached out for his arm to stop him. The moment she caught his wrist, he addressed her a weird, somewhat disgruntled look, turning his back on her immediately after. “I don't despise you, Loghain. I just don't understand” she confessed in a whisper.  
She didn't let go of him. He, on his part, made no attempt to break free. “What are you talking about?” he inquired, quietly. He seemed strangely reassured, now.  
That was it. Neria Surana, the one bold enough to mock her enemies no matter what, the one accustomed to scorn and disapproval, strong enough to intimidate demons in the Fade, was afraid to speak her mind. Honesty plainly terrified her. “You. I expected you to question my victory at the Landsmeet and you didn't. I expected you to be afraid at the prospect of being executed, yet you just stood there, ready to embrace your destiny. I expected you to defy me and question my command, even to try to kill me again. I expected you to mock me because I'm not a warrior and because I'm too young. But you did nothing of the sort, you offered your advice and respect instead.” She paused for a second, stopping that dangerous flow of words. Slowing down. “You sold  elves into slavery, poisoned an Arl, abandoned your king at Ostagar and allowed your henchman to torture young men. And yet you're nothing like I expected you to be. Please, tell me how you live with it, how you live your life so quietly and moderately at the same time.” It was not an order, but merely a plea. She conveyed into his voice all her longing, fully aware of how she had just unveiled her deepest craving: to know how to live with an omnipresent guilt.  
Now it was his turn to be speechless. Afraid that he would leave, she squeezed his wrist stronger, almost pressing her nails into his skin. He didn’t move. He turned to face he instead, his eyes opened wide: he was staring at her like she was a stranger, someone who had just spoke the unspeakable. Then, he started talking. His tone was quite, confidential, faltering from time to time. “You were at Ostagar too, Neria. You may not have noticed at the time, but I assure you, the battle was lost. We were outnumbered. If I hadn't ordered my troops to retreat, we would have all ended up dead.” He raised his gaze to meet hers.  
She thought back to the battle, how she and Alistair had found the Tower of Ishal overrun by darkspawn. How it had felt wrong. How even Alistair herself had said that those monsters weren't supposed to have reached the tower. “The Tower of Ishal had been overrun by darkspawn.” she admitted.  
He nodded but didn't comment any further. “It might be surprising considering I am a renowned general, but I had no idea Howe had gone to those lengths. Yes, I did tell him to silence those who were opposing me, but I also ordered him to not murder them." He looked down on the ground. "I'm ashamed to admit it, but I've been overly trusting.”  
Now that she had overcome the barrier, she was ready to ask more. Eager, in fact. “You mean the ones opposing you rising to power, the ones in favor of the Grey Wardens. Like Arl Eamon. Why did you think we were a threat, Loghain?”  
The man sighed and a dark cloud darkened his expression. “This is going to require... a history lesson. While we were reaching Kinloch Hold, I told you I had to fight the Wardens, the Orlesians and First Enchanter Remille. Remember?”  
Neria simply nodded. It was time to listen, to get some answers.  
“Back then, the Commander of the Grey was a woman named Genevieve. She was sure that Bregan, her brother and former Warden Commander, had been taken prisoner by darkspawns in Kul-Baras, a Deep Roads' thaig, and convinced a small group of Orlesian Grey Wardens to accompany her. She told us that specific Warden was aware of the location of the Old Golds, and that we risked a Blight. Kul-Baras is the same thaig Maric and I had explored years ago, so Commander Genevieve requested my help in getting there. When I refused, she managed to obtain Maric's help instead.”. He pressed his lips together in anger. “Long story short” he frowned, clenching his fists “it turned out that the lost Warden was the Commander's brother. She told Maric only when they had already left, so her honorable intent may as well have been an excuse to save her own flesh and blood. But more importantly, some Wardens were ready to ally with a powerful, intelligent darkspawn called the Architect, in order to stop all future Blights. They were ready to have us all pay a monstrous price. To kill the Old Gods before they could turn into Archdemons, then to have all Thedas going through the Joining to make them immune to darkspawn corruption.” He gently slid away from Neria's grasp. The mage stared at him in confusion, barely noticing that he had broken their physical contact. Loghain paced a bit, sighing, before looking at her once again. “I know this explanation is far from clear. Even I don't fully understand, all I know is what Maric told me. What is certain, is that according to the Architect this could have guaranteed an everlasting peace between the darkspawn and other races. But at what price?” Now, his stare was bursting with rage. “The Wardens were willing to take the Architect's offer. At least some of them would have been willing to sacrifice the whole Thedas. How could I know you were not like them? Ready to accept an abominable option?”  
Neria felt shocked and confused. It took her a moment to realize what Loghain meant and how it was connected to his choice at Ostagar. “That's why you didn't trust the Wardens. That's why you didn't trust us. I..” she drew a breath “..once a knight accused me of being a traitor. I explained him that it would have been absurd for a Grey Warden to work side to side with the darkspawn. But that was exactly what you were afraid of.”  
Loghain solemnly nodded, summing the question up. “You and the young Theirin were late in giving the signal. In the meantime, our troops were being slaughtered. To me, it was Kul-Baras all over again. I had no proof, but I couldn't risk my nation. Furthermore, two more people fighting against an army wouldn't have made that big difference. If you lived, you could have crushed Ferelden. If you died... practically talking Ferelden wouldn't have lost much.” In a murmur, he concluded "Or so I thought back then."  
The puzzle was slowly assembling in Neria's mind. It made perfect sense, and yet Loghain couldn't have brought any of it up at the Landsmeet. It was probably classified info. Still, there was one question left: and she was afraid of its answer. With her voice trembling, she struggled to murmur “What about the Alienage? They were no Wardens, they were no nobles, they were no threat.” Forcing herself to not falter under his gaze, she raised her chin.  
A glimpse of remorse passed into Loghain's eyes. Remorse, and shame. “The army had been destroyed, the royal funds were not enough to hire as many men as we needed. The Imperium was ready to pay handsomely for some slaves. Not only the Magisters preferred elves, also... The disappearance of humans would have been noticed. The same can not be said for elves.”  
Now, he was clearly avoiding her gaze. “I had no other option. I had to save Ferelden, Neria. And that is the only reason why I manage to live with myself.”  
She let out a deep breath. There was no more reason to be tense: good or bad, pleasant or sour, the truth was right in front of her. “All you did, it was to save your country” she muttered. He was so much more than she had ever thought, but even his trick to survive his own guilt was not enough to save her from herself.  
As he turned towards her, she heard the metallic sound of his armor. His fingertips found hers, skin touched skin. She stood still, without deepening the touch or encouraging it. His hand felt warm on hers, lively and gentle. “I wish I could turn back time and erase my deeds. I really do. I had no idea that if I had welcomed you and the Wardens from the start none of it would have been necessary. I had no idea that sacrificing my morals wasn't necessary.”

She couldn't condemn him now. He had made a choice much more moral than her own motives.  
As silence fell between them, his fingers brushed against the scars on her palm, lightly caressing them. Those same scars that were the consequence of using blood magic. The remains of yet another bridge towards power, the most dangerous she had ever crossed; the line between using magic and nurture magic with vibrant life. And yet despite everything, it was a butterfly, tender touch, free from any kind of disapproval.  
“At first, I blamed you for Cauthrien's death. Now, I only wish I had met you before” Loghain whispered, moving a hand to her chin. His deep, manly voice caressed her as well, sending shivers all through her body.  
For a moment their eyes met, and she could read inside them a kind of passion she had never witnessed before. He was looking at her like she was precious, special, unique. Then, the realization hit her so painfully that she almost gasped. He was a hero who had sinned for the sake of his country, she was nothing but a fraud who had committed even worse sins in the name of power and revenge. Whatever had inspired that warming passion, it was certainly something she was not. She craved to bask in him so desperately that some part of her almost gave in, ready to grab that remnant of happiness. Painfully, she forced herself to kick it away: she couldn't bring herself to deceive him, to take hold of something who wasn't meant for her.  
Neria abruptly took one step back, breaking the physical contact. A gesture that hit her hard, leaving her hands craving for his. She couldn't stand to look at him, to see a dazed expression, to look at his hands, almost as dazed as him now that they were empty. “It's not right” she blurted out. Neria Surana did what she had never done before: she fled. Turning her back on Loghain, she chose to not fight that battle: she knew she had to hope to win.

**_§§_ **

During the next days, she trained unrelentingly. Under his guide, she learned all the basics of swordsmanship: she acquired the basic mechanics of a rising blow, a tondo and a ridoppio. The training made her all but an expert fencer, but it had made it more conscious about the dangers hidden into a melee. Thanks to Loghain, with some luck, she could defend herself for the time necessary for a safe getaway.  
Not even a single time he asked her for an explanation. And she was glad to don't have to provide one. In the end, they were both soldiers: duty before everything else.

Four days later, the messenger came. As worn out and wounded he was, he refused water, healing and food before having delivered his message.   
The darkspawn horde had finally struck, and Redcliffe was under attack.


	7. Everything fades to gray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final battle against the Archdemon really started in the worst way for the Wardens: they traveled the wrong place.  
> Riordan's fateful revelations certainly don't raise the morale, and the unexpected reapparance of an old comrade could be a blessing... or a curse.
> 
> The only ray of hope is really the gift of a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to EasternViolet for her beta-reading! :D

# EVERYTHING FADES TO GRAY

_How did I get here?_

_What will I find here?_

_I've come to meet_

_The evil one_

The closer they neared Redcliffe, the more the sky was veiled, its gleam hidden under a grey curtain. It was spring, and yet Ferelden seemed stuck in a perpetual winter. The darkspawn were obviously patrolling Redcliffe’s borders, as Neria and her companions had to earn every single inch, every single step. There was not a day when they were not soaked in their enemy’s tainted blood. Their evening ritual now involved removing it.

They had travelled along Lake Calenhad's banks all day long until nightfall. They had set camp upon a hill, in order to gain more awareness of their surroundings and to prepare for an attack. Now, sitting by the campfire was Neria, rubbing her arms with a wet rag. She was staring at the feeble shape of Redcliffe, in the distance, now engulfed by the dark of the night. A weird thought popped up into her mind. What if that was a bad omen? Before she could process it, she heard light steps and a soft thud. Someone had sat beside her. For a moment, she hoped it was Loghain: she felt an urge to talk to him, to ask him for advice on how to master that increasing fear. Then, she remembered she wasn't allowed to. A cold, feminine hand took the rag from her grip, and gently cleaned her bloodied arm.

“It's almost as if Redcliffe has fallen prey to the darkness. Doesn’t it look like a bad omen, Mor?”she whispered to the witch. Her companions didn't need such dark thoughts. 

“It's just the night, Neria. The sun will rise again." Silence fell between the two women, and once again the Warden could feel the darkness creep upon them. "You might be surprised to hear something like this from me, but...the sun will always rise, no matter what,” continued Morrigan. She cleaned the dirt under her nails. And one moment later, the witch was her usual self once again. “There's no legend nor inner meaning guiding my words, I’m just pointing out the obvious, to help you remain rational. If you're searching for solace, you should call the bard. She has a consolatory tale for every sickness.”

A cloud moved away and left the moon free of its chains. A glint of silver painted Lake Calenhad's water. “Do you remember the time when Leliana told us about King Calenhad's armour? How the Circle hooked millions and millions of mail rings made of the lake's water and forged him an impenetrable armor, as long as he stood on Fereldan soil?” Neria inquired.

Despite the enveloping darkness, Neria could almost see Morrigan's smirk. The witch of the Wilds dropped the rag on the grass. “I'm not sure I was listening. What of this fabulous story? Do those legends do us any good? Can you call your griffon like old times' Grey Warden?”

The Warden shook her head in agreement. “You're right. It's no use. It's just…” she hesitated, biting her lip. “I'm afraid, Morrigan. Every night the Archdemon speaks to me in my dreams, and every day I get more and more scared. Maybe, if I had King Calenhad's armor I would feel more... secure. But there's no such thing as feeling secure while on the field. I'm well aware of that."

In response, Morrigan remained silent for so long that Neria started thinking she had left to escape her absurd rambling. Still, Morrigan would have told her plainly to come back to reality before leaving her to deal with the matter by herself. That silence was so un-Morrigan-like. 

As Neria was about to stand up and leave, Morrigan announced “I can't gift you King Calenhad's armor. But I may have the next best thing at disposal.” She turned, revealing a leather package in her hands. “If you want it, it's yours. Mother made me pack it and had intended for me to wear it, but...” the witch seemed to waver “...you probably need it more than I do. And if this robe will help you stay alive, I'll have repaid my debt." A weirdly serious glimpse shone into her dark eyes. "You saved my life, so I will do my best to return the favor.” She paused for a moment. “Not to mention that I want nothing more to do with Mother anymore.” Morrigan handed Neria the package. “Go on. Touch it. I assure you, I checked myself. Mother set no traps, or tricks in it.”

Neria stared at Morrigan, with an astonished look on her face. Her friend wasn't one for gifts. As she held the package and run her hands over its contents, a mix of clothing and leather armor, she perceived the familiar hum of magic. The moment she touched the fabric itself, the magic that was contained in the armor almost flew into her veins. Bewildered, the mage spread the robe over her knees. It was Lavish in its appearance, and resembled more a formal dress than an armor. The leather bodice was designed to protect the chest, but the shoulders were bare. A strip of leather connected the bodice to a collar. Long, flared sleeves of sturdy, emerald velvet matched the gown, which completed the armor.

“Morrigan, are you sure? This is far more than precious,” Neria whispered. The more she caressed the velvet, the more its magic almost sang in her ears.

“I am sure. Keep it,” Morrigan stated. She motioned to stand, but for a moment, she seemed unsure. “Neria, don't get too close to Loghain. You…” she hesitated again “…never know what might happen. Or what might be asked of you.” Without waiting for a response, the Witch of the Wilds left Neria alone with the sharp pain her words had revived. She breathed in the magic of the robe again. Magic was, after all, mother, sister, brother, father and lover. It could soothe even that kind of pain.

_**§§** _

**  
_Dragon 30_  
**  
 **  
_6 days prior to the final battle_  
**

 

The last darkspawn died with a gurgle that still echoed in Neria's ears when she and her companions entered Redcliffe Castle. They were bloody and dirty, certainly not properly dressed for meeting a noble, and sure as hell that wasn't the way she had once dreamed her entrance amongst nobility. But in the middle of a Blight, that kind of etiquette didn't matter, not even to Queen Anora. When Anora saw her father, she threw herself into his father's arms, ignoring the blood staining his armor. Neria stared at the pair for only a moment before looking away — she did not wish to intrude into family business. She had once visited Redcliffe Castle's great hall when she had been called to save the young Connor, but she had never seen it so populated. Knight-Commander Greagoir was standing beside the Arl, while Swiftrunner and the Lady of the Forest had chosen a more defilade position. The tension between the commanders of the armies the Wardens had put together was palpable.

“Your Majesty. Arl. Bann Teagan. Knight-Commander. Lady. How are we faring?” She asked upon her arrival. Screw etiquette. “We just fought a number of darkspawn in the village. I would have expected more struggle. Maybe the Archdemon itself.” She looked around. “And where is King Bhelen?” 

The three men exchanged worried glances. A quick look was enough to tell how fatigue and anxiety were written all over their expressions like a mask. 

Finally, Arl Eamon took a hesitant step forward. “We've been deceived, Warden. One of our scouts came back yesterday, an arrow stuck into his shoulder and exhausted, reporting that he had spotted the horde marching towards Denerim. Looks like this attack was just a decoy. The other scout, luckily unharmed, has left for Denerim hoping to alert the capital.”

“They have a two day head start then?” Loghain cut in. His daughter was still standing by his side, her beautiful, laced dress stained in red. She didn't seem to care, nor looked less regal than she had at the Landsmeet. 

“No, Warden” admitted Teagan as a bitter frown made way on his lips “they're three days ahead of us. We won't be able to march before tomorrow, so it makes for three days.”

“Three?” Loghain exclaimed. “If we ride tomorrow, we can cut in front of the enemy and defend Denerim's gates.” He turned towards the Queen, “I hope, Anora, that your husband-to-be has prepared the royal guard ready, just like the Warden and I recommended weeks ago. Even if we consider the possibility that the scouts weren’t able to make it, their patrols should see the danger coming.” He turned towards Neria. “Our plan won't work. It required us to arrange the troops before the attack. Now, if we follow the original plan, by the time we reach Denerim, the darkspawn will probably have cut through and entered the city.”

Anora nodded resolutely. “He did, father. We received you and Warden Surana's instruction and patrolled the area as ordered. By now, the city should be ready to withstand whatever danger it is about to face.”

Neria immediately realized Loghain was right. She had examined her map so many times that she had a precise idea in terms of travel time. She looked up at Arl Eamon and Greagoir. “When we left our horses in the stables, it seemed that there might be a horse for each one of our men. I've seen the Circle's crest on more than one saddle. Arl, am I correct in assuming that we have enough horses to ride to Denerim?”

Arl Eamon nodded. “You are, Warden. We have conducted several transactions in order to secure enough horses for a march.”

Greagoir respectfully waited for the Arl to finish his speech. “My Templars have been provided with their own mounts. I doubt, however, that the dwarves have done the same. Dwarves don't strike me as the equestrian types. I'm not even sure they're used to riding.”

“I've already commanded them to ride brontos, Knight-Commander,” Neria proclaimed. “King Bhelen is not dense. He knows how long it would take to walk all the way to Denerim”. 

Loghain looked right at her. “Warden, if the dwarves are not here by tomorrow, I suggest sending our two swiftest men to intercept their army and warn them they have to travel to the capital. Even better, they should try to catch up with us along the road.”  
Neria pondered for a moment, giving a look to Eamon and Teagan. She didn't fail to noticing how they hesitated in obeying Loghain's command to calling for their scouts. True enough, the course of action wasn't final until she authorized it, but she could read something on their faces. Mistrust. “I agree. That's the most logical course of action.”

Riordan simply nodded in agreement. He looked troubled, somewhat impatient, and glanced frequently towards her and Loghain. 

Swiftrunner could take care of it, Mortal,” proposed the Lady of the Forest. The werewolf was, of course, by her side. As she made her way through the crowd, every single human present in the room stared at her, half in awe and half in curiosity. She was neither human nor wolf, a weird creature none had ever witnessed before. The most persistent glances were met, and abruptly interrupted, by Swiftrunner's low growl. The Lady caressed his paw, calming him, before speaking. “He needs no mount and by now you know he can be trusted. Plus, his strength and his sense of smell can help him to avoid any darkspawn detached from the horde.”

For the first time, Neria saw in the Lady something more than her vengeance against her people. In a sense, she wasn't all that different from a human. And now, she was willing to put her most beloved creature in danger; in truth, she was protecting him by keeping him away from horde. “True enough,” she quietly replied, “he is everything you say. But he's also a fierce fighter, and the same cannot be said about a messenger. A messenger cannot fight like him, and while it's still possible that some stray darkspawn are around, I'd bet that the Archdemon has called all of them for the final show. That's why I need Swiftrunner on the field, My Lady.” 

A glimpse of sadness crossed the spirit's eyes. However, in a blink it was gone. “I understand, and I respect your decision.” As if she had read her mind, she spoke in an assuring voice. “We're not afraid to die side by side. But you...” she shook her head “...you should fear the dragon, Wardens. He calls for you, he calls out his challenge. You are in far more danger than us.”

Upon hearing those words, Riordan turned towards the Lady. Somehow, she had dissolved his calm mask - he looked disturbed, even terrified. In fact, the spirit had reminded everyone that what they were about to hunt, was no ordinary beast. 

After a long silence, Loghain declared “It's settled then. Arl Eamon, send word.” Then he turned towards the Queen, but his glance wasn't the one of a General. It was the one of a father. “Anora, you will remain in Redcliffe. I won't have you thrown in the middle of the battle, nor I want you stranded outside the city and surrounded by enemies.” He paused. “And since we're at it, what are you doing here?”  
“Your father is right, Queen Anora,” stated Neria quietly. “We don't know what we'll find once we reach the capital. You'd be safer here. It's unlikely that the darkspawn will enter the castle while the whole horde is so focused on Denerim. Alistair can take care of the royal troops.”

Anora frowned, definitely about to complain. In the end, though, her features softened. “Let me be clear. I'm the Queen and I could order you both to make preparations for me to travel with the army. However, your argument is reasonable and I graciously accept your advice. I will stay in Redcliffe. After all, Alistair had sent me here for the same reason, sometime before they attacked Redcliffe. He was convinced the capital would have been the target.”

Loghain cast her a grateful look, to which she simply nodded in recognition. She had come to know Anora a little: the Queen could be stubborn and adamant, but all the same, she was no fool and she was able to recognize a truth. 

“Warden Surana. Warden Loghain,” Riordan called off as he approached them. “There's something we need to talk about. It concerns the battle.” Respectfully, he bowed at the nobles. “Lord Eamon, Bann Teagan, I will need to speak with them alone. It's Warden business.” Once again, he looked at them. “If we're done here, I ask that you both follow me.”

Neria exchanged a look with Loghain. A wave of anxiety crashed his normally calm eyes. 

“We're done. Let's go somewhere quieter, Riordan,” she agreed.

_**§§** _

As the trio moved towards a more secluded room of the castle, a faint whispering echoed behind them. None of them turned, none of them slowed down. Loghain muttered between his teeth, “I'm going to have to thank our king-to-be. He actually protected my daughter and guessed right in pointing as Denerim as the battlefield.”

“Alistair is a good man, Loghain. Yes, he's been blinded by his rage towards you, but he had his reasons. Duncan was like a father to him,” Neria revealed. “This doesn't mean that he was right in leaving the Wardens. Nor does it change the fact that he chose his personal feelings over his duty.”  
Loghain cast her a long, confused look as they took the stairs. “I thought you didn't appreciate him.” He confessed with a bit of fondness in his voice. “The more I’m sure I know everything about you, the more you manage to surprise me.”

 

Unknowingly, even to herself, Neria's lips curled up in that smile. As she locked her eyes with his, a sense of warmth filled her veins just like magic. That feeling was gone in less than a second.

The opening of a door, along with Riordan's voice, broke the spell. “Whatever your feelings about him, Alistair will be informed about the contents of our conversation. I'll take care of it. According to what we know, he's in Denerim, so it shouldn't be difficult to locate him once we reach the city.”

For once, both Neria and Loghain kept silent. Riordan's expression was grave enough to prompt them to simply listen. Neither commented again about how Alistair had abandoned his duty. Neither of them criticized him or opposed Riordan's words. 

Riordan stood, staring at them both as if he wanted to be sure he held their attention. “I'm sure some of you have wondered why Grey Wardens are needed in ending a Blight. Why a proper, massive army is not enough. I'm afraid to say the answer is far from pleasant.”

It was crystal clear, the issue was not heading anywhere pleasant. A sudden fear grasped at Neria's throat. Part of her didn't want to hear it at all. Still, she recalled all her past decisions and along with them, the dauntless feeling that had shielded her. “Just tell us, Riordan,” she briskly commanded. 

The Orlesian Warden stared at her for just a moment before speaking. “As you may know, an Archdemon is an Old God afflicted by the taint. When an Archdemon is slain, his soul naturally searches for the taint. On the field, only darkspawn and Grey Wardens will be suitable vessels for its soul.” Riordan paused, looking at them both, obviously waiting for questions or doubts to answer. None came. “Darkspawn are soulless, which means the Archdemon would live on inside one of his minions and we would be tasked to kill every single darkspawn to end the Blight.” Riordan briefly hesitated. “If the beast is brought down by someone who's not gone through the Joining, and as such whose blood is not corrupted, the Archdemon's soul is not destroyed and will simply occupy the body of the nearest darkspawn. The striking blow must come from a Warden.” Now, Riordan looked sorry, grieved. “Sadly, unlike a darkspawn, a Warden is not soulless.”

Something inside Neria struggled, eager to rebel. She hadn't signed up for that, after all. The possibility of dying on the field was one thing, but that destiny was awhole other matter. Her heart beat fast and she turned to look at Loghain. No one had told him what the Joining would have asked of him. Still, he looked oddly calm; perhaps to him that was just another way to die on the battlefield.

It was Loghain who gave voice to the terrifying thought. “The Archdemon's soul will try to settle into the Warden's body, but he will be unable to do so because the Warden who kills the Archdemon already hosts his own soul. There's not enough place for two souls in the same body, so the clash between them will kill the Warden who casts the killing blow.” He wasn't asking for confirmation, nor was hoping to be reassured. His expression was grave and resigned.

As Riordan nodded, Neria could almost see all her hopes crashing into an abyss. She had hoped to redeem herself, to wash away her sins through acts of goodness and gentleness. She had prayed for a chance. Was that her punishment for having violated Andraste's ashes? All three Wardens had fallen into silence andnone moved to leave the room. Neria's gaze fell on Loghain and a confusing knot of feelings filled her up. Life. A purpose. A bridge between past and future. That much was clear. If he died, all that was life to her would die with him. 

“I'll do it” she whispered. And in a steadier voice, she repeated “I'll do it. I'll take care of it.” As she talked, she could feel Loghain's gaze on her. She didn't need to read the plea in his eyes. 

“I object.” That was the booming voice of the General.

Riordan cut in, taking a step towards them. “Brother, sister,” he began, “it's refreshing to see so much spirit for sacrifice, but neither of you need to take that burden upon you. I'm the oldest one and I'm afraid my calling is close. I will take care of it. I will search for the Archdemon and I will try to bring him down with me.” Just like Loghain, Riordan seemed ready to meet his end. Calm and collected as he was, he didn't look like a man about to face his death. “You should both get some rest. We're leaving at dawn tomorrow.” The senior Warden cast them a last look before leaving the room.

As soon as Riordan was out of sight, Neria moved away, towards the window. She felt Loghain's hand grasping her arm and she turned to face him, meeting his eyes and his intense gaze. “You won't. I have much to atone for, I'm aged already. You are the hero who will save Ferelden, and you have many years ahead you. I won't allow you.” 

Suddenly enraged, she tugged her arm free. “I don't need anyone's permission. Not even yours.” Then, her voice softened a little. “I need to. Please, don't stand in my way, Loghain. You don't understand.” His lips straightened in a thin line, and a deep concern was making him frown. “Would you leave Anora alone?” Neria continued.

“Anora doesn't need me anymore. She's strong enough to take the blow. Believe me, she would be offended if I treated her like a weakling.” Then, he hesitated. “Talk to me. I may understand. Just…” he shyly begged, touching her arm lightly “...don't make me watch you while you walk to your death. Don't do this to me.”

Unable to stare back at him, Neria looked down, shaking her head. She couldn't let him die, it didn't matter whether he understood or not. Maybe, just maybe, she could protect him by telling him the truth, by letting him know what kind of person she really was. Then, he may let her cast the killing blow out of scorn. He wouldn't have stopped her anymore.

Before she could start talking, a glint from outside and the sound of heavy steps urged her to look outside the window. The bridge's torches were highlighting the silhouette of an armed contingent. A soldier carried the Theirin coat of arms. Alistair's features came into light.


	8. Carnival of life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last night at Redcliffe Castle.
> 
> A proposal, a clash of powers and a confession that leads so much, much more.

# CARNIVAL OF LIFE

_Who's more of a beast_

_A king or a priest_

_What do you believe?_

Loghain and Neria both immediately climbed down the stairs. What was Alistair doing there? Why had he even traveled to Redcliffe while the capital was under attack?

As Neria stepped through the high hall's door, a mix of blood, metal and dirt reached her nostrils. The royal contingent had traveled steadily and had little time to make camp, let alone to wash themselves. The Arl's healers didn't hesitate in coming to the aid of the wounded; the Arl himself, Anora and Teagan looked equally astonished. 

Arl Eamon stepped forward, asking anxiously “Where is he? Where is Alistair?”

Almost immediately, Alistair's voice broke the silence. “Make way. I need to talk to Eamon. He's alive, isn't he?”

When the two men found themselves face to face, they exchanged a brief, yet fond, hug. “What happened here?” Alistair asked. “We were attacked on the road halfway, but we didn't meet a single darkspawn near Redcliffe.”

Neria stood silent, her gaze on her former Warden companion. He hadn't changed much, and yet he wasn't anymore the submissive, accommodating man she had traveled with for almost a year. Either the crown or the Landsmeet had changed him into a whole new person. Finally, Alistair looked her and Loghain up and down. All the warmth into his eyes was replaced by coldness. He hadn't forgiven either of them that much was clear. Still, Neria wasn't one to back down. She was, after all, the General the Queen had named. She took a step forward.

“Why are you here, Alistair? The Queen told us that you sent her to Redcliffe in order to keep her safe,” Neria said calmly. “Don't you know what's happening in Denerim?”

The King-to-be stared at her. Once, that direct manner of speech would have disoriented him. Not anymore. His answer was quick and clear. “I may have left the Wardens, but I have no intention to hide in the royal rooms while thousands of darkspawn threaten our land. I'm going to fight, that's why I'm here. When the notice arrived, informing me that Redcliffe was the target of the horde, I left the capital to join the army.” Then he added, “What do you mean?” 

Nearly everyone in the room paled. Every single person in the hall was either a politician or a soldier, so they were well aware of the consequences of Alistair's actions. Neria took a deep breath, instructing her voice to remain controlled andsteady. “We have been fooled, Alistair. It's Denerim that's under attack. The horde was spotted two days ago, marching towards the capital.” She frowned. “If you didn't know, it means the messenger sent to warn you was killed before he could reach you. But of course, your guards couldn’t have missed the horde coming. Who's in command at the capital now?”

“For you, Warden,” he spat out the word like it was an insult, turning towards Loghain for a moment. “I am Your Majesty.” The same icy stare she had become recently acquainted returned. “Ask properly, and I will answer your question. It's far from pointless, after all.”

Murmuring and whispering echoed throughout the hall. Everyone but Anora, Eamon, Teagan and the personal guards of the King left the room.

Neria stood, swallowing her raging instinct. Was he really clinging on etiquette on the eve of the battle? On the eve on such a battle? And yet, he had the right to make such demands. It took her a great amount of self-control to not counterstrike, to put duty before that quarrel. 

“Alistair, calm down,” Anora called, reaching for his arm. Alistair withdrew from her touch, crisply moving her hand away. He kept staring at Neria, waiting for her to rephrase her request.

Even before Neria could utter a single sound, Loghain took a step forward. His eyes flashed with anger, just like his words. “Queen Anora appointed this woman as your General. You will address her with her proper title, Your Majesty. She has put together an army against the horde. She has earned it.” He had spoken properly, but his tone was far from deferential. Loghain turned to Anora. “And you will treat your wife-to-be with the respect she deserves. Am I understood, Your Majesty?”

Almost foaming at his mouth, Alistair took one more step forward. His hand searched for his sword's hilt and found it, then wielded it. “I've traveled far and wide with Warden Surana. I’ve helped build that army. Let me be clear, Loghain. I won't accept any reprimand about war or chivalry from the man who abandoned Ostagar's field, enslaved Maker knows how many elves and tried to steal the throne from his own daughter!”

Neria exchanged a look with Eamon and Teagan. She wasn't surprised to notice that they were reluctant to restrain their king-to-be. Nevertheless, the second emotion that emerged on their faces filled her with bitterness. They didn't want to oppose Alistair. They agreed with him. The sound of steel sliding from a leather scabbard recalled her attention. Still standing beside her, Loghain hand was also on his hilt. He had unsheathed the weapon enough to show a minimal section of the blade. He was a man ready to fight. 

Panicking, she grasped his arm tightly. “Do you wish to get yourself executed?” she whispered, faint enough to be sure that her words reached only his ear.

At first, it didn't seem as if the former Teyrn had heard her. He remained focused on Alistair, and his silent defiance didn't soften. After a couple of seconds, though, Loghain finally turned towards her, nodding softly in agreement with her warning. His grip softened and he started lowering his arm. 

Then the world flashed forward. All she could see was a shadow moving towards them, and a dagger's blade piercing the inside of Loghain's forearm. 

“That's what traitors get!” the shadow cried.

Struck by sudden pain and taken by surprise, he let go of the hilt. The assailant lifted the dagger again, and pointed it at Loghain's throat. The first thing Neria took notice of was the threat to Loghain's life. The second, as her mind blast repelled the attacker, was that she had to remove it from the world of the living. As she looked right into the royal guard's eyes, she impaled him on an ice stalactite. And lastly, as time began to flow at its normal speed, she realized how she had been the only one to jump to Loghain's defence. Alistair, as well as Arl Aemon and Bann Teagan, looked horrified, and yet none had moved to stop the perpetrator. Only Anora had rushed by her father's side and was now frantically examining the wound.

A horrifying suspicion kicked into her brain. And along with it, the same kind of rage that had filled her during her years of captivity at the Circle Tower. As the crackling of ice started to take a visible form on her palms, she spread her arms. “You better tell me this wasn't your plan all along. All of you!” she boomed. 

The three men gasped, their gaze on her hands as if they were two venomous snakes ready to strike. They took a step back. And then, Arl Eamon carefully spoke. “Be reasonable, Warden. You're right, it's difficult for all of us to deem Loghain Mac Tir trustworthy. But Warden, none of us would risk jeopardizing the battle. If we really wanted him dead, we would at least have waited until the battle is over. You know me, Warden. What good would it do to Ferelden to have him assassinated now?”

Alistair cut in. “You can't be serious. As much as I hate him, you should know that I would never put the Wardens' mission at risk. I cherish Duncan's memory too much and while I cannot endure fighting by his side I am also aware that the Wardens need every possible soul. Even his.” His face was still permeated with anger, but he had nonetheless, regained his self-control. 

As the Arl talked, Neria focused on his face. He was the most subtle of the three. When reason started to kick in, and the ice on her palms began to melt along with her deep-rooted rage, she spied both Alistair and Teagan with the corner of her eye. They didn't look away, as a man does when faced with a lie either. Slowly, she lowered her hands and turned towards Loghain. Blood was still dropping from the wound, and considering how little it flowed, she deduced that neither artery nor vein had been severed. Loghain stared at her with a bewildered and bewitched look. Neria turned to Teagan, Alistair and Eamon. While her outburst withered, shame filled her soul. She had let her old, destructive feelings return and take control. When she spoke again, her voice was calm, steady, and controlled. “You're all righteous, good people. You proclaim your high morals. You all think you're much better men than him, but you're not. He's done nothing but fight for his country. You all,” she continued, “accuse him of trafficking slaves in the Alienage. He's guilty, it's true. But it's equally true that neither you, Eamon, nor you, Teagan, acted on behalf of the Alienage. Ever. You only cared for the elves when you had the need to defy a political opponent.” Finally, she searched locked eyes with Alistair. She could tell that he was barely keeping it together, as Eamon could as well and placed a hand on his arm to hold his adopted son back. “And you. You cherish Duncan's memory, and yet not enough to fight with the Wardens. You chose your feelings over your duty, Alistair.”

As she turned to leave the hall, she cast one last glance at Loghain. Anora, looking bewildered, hadn't left his side. 

“Please, get him a healer. I'll visit him to check if he needs my healing abilities,” Neria requested, before heading towards her bedroom. 

Then, the Queen spoke. “I never got to thank you, Warden. And how you saved his life twice.”

_**§§** _

_There is no choice_

_There's repentance_

_Redeem the oath_

_And pay the price_

_If you want_

The forthcoming battle, the prospect of her possible death and the resurfacing of her old self were almost too much to bear all by herself. Neria desperately needed some time alone, to cool down and to come to terms with everything that had happened. So, when she closed her bedroom's door behind her only to find Morrigan seated on her bed, she suddenly felt overwhelmed by her responsibilities. She wondered what the witch might need. After all, it seemed the world always needed to take something from her. If only the world knew she was no hero. When Morrigan didn't speak at all, she supposed she had to.

Sighing, she laid her back on the door. “What are you doing in my room, Morrigan? I have a long night ahead of me, so if whatever it is could wait until tomorrow...”

Morrigan's response was both quick and undismayed. “It can't. Assuming you wish for both you and Loghain to be sure to make it out of the battle alive, of course.”

Suddenly alert, Neria surveyed her friend's face. “What did you just say?” 

Morrigan had indirectly given voice to her most secret hope, the one she could not afford to toy with: the idea that Loghain could look at the woman behind the mask, the woman she really was, as he looked at her now. And they they both had lived, perhaps...

“I know what takes for an Archdemon to die, Neria,” Morrigan calmly confessed, “and I know that you, Loghain, or Riordan must die in order to achieve victory. I'm here to tell you that you can save yourself and their life as well. You only need to convince Loghain to take part in a ritual.”

“Morrigan, if that's your idea of a joke I...” Neria growled. Still, she couldn't help but consider the idea. True enough, he could never... She thought about granting herself more time in order to to redeem herself.

The witch grimaced, looking both offended and saddened by her suspicion. “You must think poorly of me, if you think I could joke about your survival.” Morrigan took some steps around the room before speaking again. “I don't want you to die. I'm offering you a way out, and in truth... that's the reason why Mother ordered me to accompany you. I've... always been aware of the way the Archdemon's soul could crush yours, or your fellow Wardens'.”

“Your mother? And why should we trust anything coming from her, hmm?” Neria retorted. Too afraid of letting in just another delusional hope, she altogether refused to even consider whatever Morrigan had to offer. But despite having omitted that confession before, the Warden still trusted her friend. 

Morrigan didn't seem discouraged. Stretching out her arms, she made a proposal. “Why don't you hear me out first? You can always refuse. Even though,” her arms fell back along her hips, “I hope you won't, with all my heart.” 

That sweet, desperate note in the witch's voice struck Neria. Besides, Morrigan she was right—listening wouldn't hurt.   
“All right,” Neria agreed in a whisper, “speak.”

Morrigan sighed with relief. “Thank you.” Then, with a serious look in her eyes, she began her explanation. “I know the Archdemon's soul searches for the Warden who strikes the killing blow. I can offer a different target, and thus save whoever is going to take the killing blow.” She stopped right in front of Neria. “Convince Loghain to lay with me. We can conceive a child, and that child will be the target for the Archdemon's soul. As an unborn being, the child can take in the Archdemon's soul without dying or being damaged by it, and that child will be born with the soul of an Old God purified by the taint.”

As Morrigan spoke, a mixture of emotions boiled inside her. At first, the image of Loghain and Morrigan entangled in love-making stung her with jealousy; then, the painful, familiar awareness that she herself could never have him stung her even more violently. She clenched her fists, then relaxed. There may be hope for her. And for him, too, in the event that her death might come before the Archdemon’s.“What of the child?” she whispered. “Are you certain that child won't be dangerous? Are you certain you won't harbor the most powerful darkspawn of all time? That the taint won't take over again one day?”

“I am certain. He won't be a menace to Ferelden.” Morrigan quietly replied. “About the child, though, I can't tell you what I have in store. If my proposal is accepted, I will leave after the battle, and you won't follow me. The child will be mine to raise. All I can say is that the world won't have to fear him.” The witch took one step forward. “It's a blood magic ritual, Neria, but considering the knowledge you acquired you have no reason to be picky. Plus, I know you're a practical woman. Many times in the past you took practical, yet ruthless decisions, without blinking. That's no different matter, and even a kinder one.”

Suspicion began to make its way into Neria's mind. Why withhold that information? Why all the secrecy? And then, Morrigan's last observation punched her right in the face. It was all clear and plain. She had come to befriend and trust Morrigan through a common moral code, the same one she had thrown away in recognizing it as wrong. She was a whole new person now. Even if Morrigan was her friend, Neria could not trust Morrigan's morality, she did not trust her proposal either. Plus, she couldn't take such a risk with regard to Darkspawn.   
Neria lifted her head. “No,” she answered. “This cannot be done, Morrigan. I'm aware of your competence in magical matters, but I can't take the chance. No one can be sure that a child conceived under these circumstances will never threaten the entire world. Not even you. And frankly, you wouldn't be powerful enough to stop him. Would you?” She locked eyes with Morrigan, who was now staring at her in disbelief. “Even if you had the means, would you really murder your own son?”

Neria was surprised to find neither anger nor annoyance on the witch's face. “Please, my friend, reconsider. I'd rather take the chance and destroy a son of mine than lose you. Please. Don't make this a farewell.”

She'd never heard Morrigan beg anyone before. And by now, she knew her enough to tell that her anguish and pain were real. She had to force the words to come out. 

“You are my friend, Morrigan. But I am sorry, that's not me anymore.” Closing her eyes, she heard faint steps. Morrigan was walking away. By the time she opened them again, the room was empty. The Witch of the Wilds was gone, and with her, the only woman she had ever considered a friend and her chance for a new life. Now, all she had was redemption. A vibrant sense of loss shook her to the bone.   
But it wasn't over, not yet.

_**§§** _

Neria quietly walked towards Loghain's room. Fear and loss kept knotting her stomach, but she fought them with her strong sense of duty and discipline. He had to make it alive, and she was determined to do all she could to offer him that chance. The chance of a new life.

The mage raised her hand to knock at the door, only to find herself face to face with Anora and the Arl's healer. Even before she could ask anything, the Queen's quiet expression answered all her questions.

“He's fine. His armor protected him, so it's really nothing more than a scratch,” the Queen explained. “Still, your healing powers might help him get back on his feet in time for tomorrow's march.”

Neria nodded, exhaling a sigh of relief. “That's why I'm here, my Queen. I'll take care of it.” She paused. “I bid you a goodnight. I pray you will be safe here in Redcliffe.”   
Anora simply nodded, but something intense shone into her eyes. “Good luck, Warden. Be the General I appointed” she said, before leaving the room. 

The Warden took a step inside, closing the door behind her. There he was, laying on the bed. He was still wearing his trousers and his undervest was folded up on his left shoulder. The bandage, still fresh and faintly stained in red, covered part of his forearm. Unconcerned by his gaze fixed on her, she stood by the door staring at him for several seconds. He was the first, genuine breath of life she had inhaled since she had been taken away from her parents, and he could have been her first step in building something new in her life should the circumstances had been any different. The awareness of what she was condemned to do punched her right into her heart. 

“Are you all right?” Loghain quietly asked. He was staring at her intently, a glimpse of worry in his eyes.

To her, his voice was like an awakening from her deep well of thoughts. She clung on to pragmatism. “Let's see the wound. I'm going to take care of it. By tomorrow, you'll be ready to fight.” She took the few steps that separated them. 

Without another word, she began to undo the bandage, and while she was utterly aware of his inquiring glances she pretended not to notice. As she brushed her fingers against the wound, her magic flowing through her veins. For a little while, it wasn't his wound or his skin, but simply a wound that needed healing. It wasn’t the first time that magic soothed her pain. Neria retreated her fingertips as soon as the skin felt plain to the touch, with the exception of a tiny scar. And now, it was his skin again. Resting her hand on the edge of the bed, she wished she could heal herself as easily. 

“I should... let you rest. A long day awaits us,” she whispered, intending on taking her leave. The mage had only half turned her hand when she felt his touch on hers. He was holding her back. She could do nothing but turn around and face him.

But even though she had clearly announced her intention to leave, his hand kept covering hers. She knew well how strong his grip could be, but his touch was a delicate one, and she could easily have retreated had she wanted to. Sword calluses and blood magic scars. A weird combination, but his touch was something she craved so much that she allowed herself to cradle in it for a while.

“Why?” he simply asked.

Neria gulped. She knew exactly what he was referring to, and certainly it wasn't her healing. She tried to escape one last time. “Don't you want to fight fully fit?” she replied, in response. 

He clearly wasn't satisfied with that lie, and as she expected, he refused to drop the issue. However, there was no trace of blame in his eyes. “Do you remember our first real conversation? I asked you to either answer me or not, without avoiding to. Now, I won't be content with silence. I want an answer.”

“I remember,” she admitted, her voice faint. She was out of excuses. She saw no way out, except one: honesty. Eventually, she would have to tell him how she was not the kind of person he thought she was. Honesty. She owed him that much. Words frantically flowed out.

“Because I know who you are, and the reasons behind your actions. As wrong as those actions may have been, Eamon, Teagan and Alistair have no right to act like righteous white knights. I couldn't...” She gulped again, a lump forming in her throat. “You were trying to do the right thing, and now they treat you like a criminal. You're so much better than all of us.” Suddenly ashamed, Neria lowered her eyes to the floor. 

His free hand held her chin, sweetly forcing her to look at him as he smiled. “Thank you. I don't care what they think, but I thank you, Neria.” She had never heard such sweetness in his voice before. He brushed his thumb against her cheek. “I'm not a fool. I know why they call me a traitor, and I would think no better about someone like me, if I were in their shoes. Even you...” he paused, smiling again. “We've come a long way. But admit it, you didn't trust me either before I told you the truth, did you? And know look at you, defending your former enemy like a ferocious tiger. You are, after all, the hero they were waiting for.” His voice turned down to a whisper. “I'm so proud of you.”

Unsatisfied with the lightness of his touch, she gave in. She closed her eyes and let his voice cradle her. She savored an illusion where everything was safe and sound. Just for a little while, she indulged herself, and ignored the awareness that it wasn't right. She opened her eyes and stared right into his. 

“You've been a riddle from the start, Loghain. You know that. I already told you how I couldn't put the pieces together, that I didn't trust you. But I simply couldn't line up the idea of a murderous traitor with the man I had come to know. Nonetheless, I searched for answers in your words. I needed to know how to deal with guilt, and you seemed competent enough in the matter to offer me an answer.” For one last moment, she hesitated. She cherished his fond gaze, their eyes locked together, for the first and last time. When he opened his mouth to talk, she softly placing a finger on his lips to silence him. “I was born Dalish. I was seven when the slavers captured me. They outnumbered my clan and were better armed. The Keeper ordered my parents to give me up for the sake of the clan.”   
As one single tear ran down her cheek, he dried it with his finger. “I should have been sold to some Lord, but my magic awakened, and the slavers had to give me up to the Templars. All those years, caged like an animal, taught to be ashamed of my own nature. And I never came to forgive mother and father, or my people.” Neria held Loghain's hand, one last touch before the point of no return. He was still listening. He wasn't leaving her, or her touch. “I slaughtered the elves because I wanted vengeance against my parents and my people. They were not my clan, but to me it was enough that they were Dalish. I defiled the ashes of Andraste because the Prophet is the reason why I was imprisoned in the Circle. I supported its Annulment because they had to be punished for having kept me prisoner, for not having rebelled and for what they allowed to happen to a man I thought I was in love with.” She forced herself to face him as she spoke the last, terrible truth. “Until the Landsmeet, I never cared about Ferelden. Being a Warden was nothing more than my ticket to freedom and power, my chance to show how a mage was more than a monster to lock up. The Landsmeet was supposed to be my triumph, but that triumph felt like ashes instead. All that vengeance in exchange for a taste of ashes.” Trembling, Neria finally confessed “I am not the hero you talk about. I am not the woman you think I am, Loghain.” 

Neria fell silent, waiting for him to push her away. Bracing for his refusal, she readied for his eyes to fill with disillusionment and disgust. He released her hand, as she had expected him to. But when he sat on the edge of the bed and gently pulled her into an embrace she fell on his chest like a broken doll. Too shocked from his reaction, she couldn't bring herself to move a single muscle, or to return that hug. 

He whispered into her ear, his breath on her skin. “You did it, Neria. You showed them all, and you saved Ferelden too.” His hand traveled along her hips, reaching her hair and caressing it, his fingers entwined with her locks. “I wanted to save my country and I almost condemned it. You started your journey with so much anger and fear into your heart, you chose to keep it all inside and now you are about the save the world. You managed to do it without even trying. Don't you get how amazing you are?”

Her eyes widened, and finally, the mage circled his back with her arms, trembling. She basked in his warmth, she tasted the simple contact of their bodies. She listened, her nose buried into his neck, as his words vanquished her worst nightmares. All her fear of rejection flew away from her. It was their first embrace, but she knew she belonged there. It was as simple as that. She felt his breath on her cheek and when their lips met, she knew that was the right place for them to lie on. As his hands descended upon her behind, she climbed astride on him. While their lips clashed, reaching more and more familiarity each time, their hands approached each other's body. They explored every shape and every curve, gaining a new familiarity with every detail. Their mouths found their way to each other's necks, to each other's ears. Then, when his undervest found its place on the floor and her robe's laces loosened, to each other's chests. Their fingers became more hungry, more wistful. When their breath quickened and turned into soft moans, Neria held his hands, guiding them to the hem of her robe. And this time, there was no objection when she unclasped his belt. As her touch pulled away with the last of his clothing, he found his way under hers. She took in all of him. 

She had never felt more alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed :)
> 
> I'm not good at writing "classic" smut, so I opted for a different style.


	9. It's just the first farewell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The army travels towards Denerim, and meets the destruction the darkspawn letf behind. 
> 
> The time comes for a tactical meeting... and an unexpected separation.

# IT'S JUST THE FIRST FAREWELL

**_Dragon 31_ **  
**_5 days prior to the final battle_ **

_It's not the end,_

_it's just the first farewell._

The darkspawn's horror had slithered into every beating heart, the stink of the Archdemon had invaded every soul, and that night every woman, man and child could almost hear the flapping of it wings. Every single inhabitant of Ferelden was holding his breath, waiting for the dawn and for their saviors to begin their march. They waited for the army to fight for the sake of every living being.

But for Neria and Loghain, that night was their last sparkle of freedom. In the dark there are no shadows. At dawn, she would have to show the world Warden Surana, the shining General of the Ferelden army, the inspiration for every terrified soldier and civilian; he would have to don his armor and become the Hero of River Dane again. But as long as the moon hung in the sky, they could forget about the world outside and live in the narrow realm of their entwined bodies. There, she could be the scarred woman she in truth was; there, he could be so much more than the traitor of the country. That night, they found each other more than one time; they drove away reality through each other's touch, the binding of their hands and the exchange of secret smiles. They spit right in the Archdemon's face, banishing him from their minds. And even when sleep claimed them, in their dreams they clung to the illusion that maybe dawn would never have triumphed. 

When they opened their eyes, waking from their dreams of freedom, the dark still reigned; but a faint, milky light started to paint shadows and give substance to their first farewell. The first day of battle had begun. They used their own heartbeat to fight their fear inch by inch. They deflected every hit, but for every inch earned, a piece of reality kicked in. Second by second, an unsettling, sickly sunlight found its way beneath the curtains and into the room. Now, Neria could distinguish her robe, piled on the floor along with the orchid-shaped head of her staff, its petals crafted in sharp, cutting metal just like the orchid-styled decorations along the pole, dipped in venom. He could no longer ignore his armor anymore. The sunlight could not hide that symbols of duty. In the end, even the sound of people moving around the castle reached their ears. The spell had been broken.

Redcliffe woke up enveloped in a milky fog. The sun had risen, but its rays were imprisoned beneath foggy banks and could do nothing more than distinguish the world from day and night. The tepid heat of spring had been stolen and replaced with a chilling cold. The elven servants stared apprehensively at the fog, all of them afraid that it might turn green and start vomiting living skeletons, just as it had months earlier. No window was opened—everyone was secretly afraid to be taken prisoner by that fog. That first day of battle seemed more of a ghastly omen, than hope for their future. Redcliffe had witnessed a sunrise's parody.

Submerged in that unhealthy light, every soldier in the castle left the comforting embrace of blanket and mattress, knowing there would be none during their march. Each wore their vests, clasped their armor and polished their blade, greased their bow against rain and humidity. On their beds made of leaves and terrain, the werewolves smelled the wrongness in the air and frowned. When King Bhelen's dwarven army made its way through the fog, Redcliffe's villagers mistook them for undead coming for their blood. Knight-Commander's Greagoir and his Templars perceived anegative vibration, without being able to link it to any source of magic.

Neria and Loghain armed themselves against the rest of the world. She covered her body with Morrigan's robes, its power humming on her skin. Then, helped Loghain clasp every piece of armor to the other. He ran his hands through her locks before gathering them in a practical bun. Neria grabbed her staff, Loghain sheathed his sword and held his shield. Warden Surana, the shining General of Ferelden army, the inspiration for every terrified soldier and civilian, and the Hero of River Dane, were ready to walk towards war and death.

 

**_Dragon 31_ **  
**_3 days prior the final battle_ **

 

The fog had thinned soon after the army's departure. It was an improvement that immediately cheered every soldier. Now, they could see the road ahead and maybe reach for victory a little easier. Redcliffe Village had cheered their heroes, called them their saviors. Every single warrior took pride in being part of Ferelden’s destiny. Neria herself had felt her heart warm by their trust. However,, Arl Eamon, Loghain, Greagoir and every veteran stopped smiling the moment Redcliffe Village fell behind.: They recognized their own march as a road to death, possibly for all of them. They were aware of how the witnessing of dead bodies and burned houses might impact the morale. And with the taint, it was more than likely that ahead the situation was even worse. They would stumble into entire regions where no, people, animals, nor plant shad a chance to resist. 

The taint's spectacle was set in motion a few miles ahead of Redcliffe Village. The few people living beyond the Arling's borders could not count on military protection, apart from some scattered patrols. The army faced their first corpses, the same image of what was to come in a matter of days. There was little doubt that the eyes of the young girl whose intestines had been ripped out would haunt the dreams of the youngest soldiers. But, for the most part, the road remained deserted. There was time enough to exorcise the occasional horrific sights, thanks to the kind words of a comrade-in-arms.

The army entered Lothering three days after their first step towards battle. Crumbling houses, farm animals so slim that their bones were pressing on their skin, putrescent fields where carrots and potatoes had been replaced by dozens of deep mushrooms. Bodies were half-submerged in Lake Calendhad's water and others whose skin was covered with the dark web of the taint, their mouths opened in death. It was if they had been screaming while trying to answer the call boiling inside their blood, as the horror growing inside them had finally possessed their very soul. One of Arl Eamon's apprentice healers traveling with the army threw up, while his older master, his hand carefully covered with a rag, knelt down to close those mad, dead eyes. One werewolf smelled the man once, immediately retreating; a whine escaped his jaws. The soldiers responsible for the supplies' wagons close the cart's curtain carefully, as if the taint could pollute their food from a distance. 

That was when the whispering began. Neria, Loghain, and Riordan heard the soldiers wondering what it took for the taint to make its way into their bodies. Neria asked herself what they would have said, if they had known that the Wardens, their very supposed saviors, were tainted as well. Arl Eamon and Greagoir summoned them to warn them that the men were terrified. Not knowing how to preserve themselves from the taint, they inspected each other bodies, searching for any sign of illness. 

So, the Wardens stepped up. First, they made clear to the soldiers that the taint could not be cured. Therefore, everyone was responsible for himself, and were to avoid tainted blood or fluids in general. Whoever was found tainted, would be executed immediately.  
Riordan explained the risks, what the contaminated blood could bring along; he told the soldiers about the voice they would hear if infected and how their temperament would become rabid. Loghain trained the troops in fighting while keeping a certain distance from the enemy, to avoid being bitten. At the same time, he instructed them to always wear gloves and cover their skin as much as possible. Neria worked with the Arl's healers, teaching them how to use deep mushroom as an ingredient for health and stamina poultices. She wasn't the most patient teacher and struggled with that task. Since she had learned healing magic only out of necessity, she didn't possess a healer's mindset. 

No one wanted to make camp in Lothering, and to tell the truth, the army's leaders all agreed. So, the Ferelden army kept marching. In the end, they set camp near South Reach. The area had been overrun by darkspawn at the beginning of the Blight, but now that the Archdemon was plotting its final assault, the enemy was nowhere near. The leaders chose to not cross South Reach's border. That way, the sight of another massacre would have been spared to the soldiers. One was enough for today.

**_§§_ **

As soon as the army reached South Reach's border, the Arl, King Bhelen and Greagoir ordered their men to erect their tents, while the werewolves were sent to patrol the Brecilian Forest's boundary under Swiftrunner's guide. Up to that point, the army had not met any darkspawn nor had the Wardens perceived any nearby, but now it was a different matter—they had arrived at the last major settlement before Denerim and coming in contact with the horde's scouts was entirely possible.

While the troops were setting camp, lighting the torches and arranging their dinner, the Wardens summoned a tactical meeting. Loghain, Neria and Riordan had set down the map on two big trunks put together. Wooden markers were placed on top, representing the armies. The Wardens sat in silence, , clearly lost in their own dark thoughts. Silence meant not hearing bad news, not having to talk about the Archdemon. 

Sadly, silence was not an option. Riordan was the one who broke it. “It showed up in my dreams. Its voice was truly awful. I thought my head was going to explode,” the elder Warden stated. 

“Same here,” Neria whispered in response. She remembered all too well how well she and Loghain had been awakened at the same time by that same nightmare. She shot a quick glance at Loghain, without a word.

Riordan stated the obvious, hideous truth. “Should I fail, you both must be ready to hunt the beast down and strike.”

A quick glimpse of discomfort passed on Loghain's face. Nonetheless, he reassured the older Warden. “Have no fear, Riordan." 

Neria, swallowing a knot of unease and heartache, simply nodded. She couldn't help but think back on Morrigan and her offer with something very similar to regret. Before she could fall into a well of despair, her gaze caught the other Grey Wardens'. Their looks were an embrace of trust and harmony. They may not have much more time, but they were in it together and their bond was growing stronger and stronger. In that moment, their allies entered the tent, bringing the reality of war with them.

Alistair was the first to set foot inside, as his noble birth and rank required. As if he had sensed the bond connecting the three Wardens, he bitterly twisted his mouth. 

One moment later, the tent was crowded. All these men and women were allies, but they still looked uncomfortable with each other. The Lady of the Forest attracted other bewildered looks, Bhelen Aeducan's presence dazed the present humans, and the humans were cautious even around each other. After all, this was an unusual army. The werewolves were new to everyone, the dwarves had holed themselves up in Orzammar for years and the Templars were better known for guarding Circles then for their presence on the field. However, the long march and the horrors they had witnessed washed away their mutual skepticism. They had found common ground. They may have underestimated the Blight before, but now they had seen its expansion firsthand.

The three Wardens stood up at the same time. Neria began the meeting.

“So, let's cut the chase,” she started. “We have been marching for three days now, and nearing Denerim. We could encounter the horde anytime considering that we travel faster than them, thanks to horses and brontos. As you are all well aware, we plan to cut in front of the horde before it can smash Denerim's gates.” The mage's finger walked through the portion of the West Road the army had not yet covered. “To do so, we can't follow the West Road for all its length.” She fell silent, looking briefly at Loghain. She gave him the floor, as planned.

“If you take a closer look at the map, you can see a thin stretch running straight from where we are now, right beside the River Drakon River. I studied this section of the map, compared it both with the ones available at Redcliffe Castle and a geography tome. Looks like that's a mountain pass, which leads not far from Drakon Tower and Denerim. King Aeducan,” he asked the dwarf, “can you confirm? You're the most experienced in the matter of mountainous paths.”

Bhelen briefly glanced at the spot Loghain was pointing to. “You can bet on it, Warden. It’s a good thing that Warden Surana gave Orzammar's crown to the best candidate, because unlike Harrowmont I've always treasured the merchants and the dwarves living outside Orzammar's gates, regardless of their caste. And that's why I can confirm it. That's indeed a mountain pass, large enough to lead the horses through. However,” he paused for a second, “it's not large enough to accommodate the entire army. Not if we don't want to be horribly slowed down.”

“Which we cannot afford,” murmured Alistair. He thoughtfully stared at the map. When he lift his face, his expression darkened. “We need to split the army up. That's our best shot. I don't like the idea, but I believe we need to take the risk. We can plan it carefully enough to make it work.”

“Redcliffe stands with King Alistair,” Arl Eamon announced. 

“It's risky, yes. But,” Riordan cut in, “Loghain, Neria, weren't you talking about a pincer movement when we were in Redcliffe? This is the perfect situation to carry out that kind of tactic. We could stop the horde and take them by surprise. Even though at some point, they’ll become aware of the section of army marching on the West Road, they won't expect a lateral charge. We just need to plan the timing very, very precisely, because without the back-up of the other half of the army, the men on the West Road will very likely perish. Both contingents need to reach the meeting spot between the mountain pass and the West Road,” he pointed to the spot between Drakon River's course and the West Road, before it turned towards Dragon Peak. “This will happen at dawn of the second and last marching day.”

“Not to brag,” Bhelen cut in, “but I should be guiding the mountain pass' contingent. You said it yourself, I'm the mountainside man.” The dwarf grinned, somewhat amused.

Neria quietly listened. She had made a point to avoid talking about tactics and strategy without being sure that she wasn't about to say something stupid or extremely obvious. As a mage, though, she knew how much of a pain in the ass emissaries could be. “Knight-Commander. You should split your men, in order to ensure that both contingents have efficient protection against emissaries.”

At first, the Templar stared at her without talking. It was obvious that he was studying her. “I'm glad that you're aware of the damage magic can do. I agree with you, Warden. I'll name one of my men as commander of the second Templar group.”

“If I may,” Arl Eamon spoke, “we need the West Road's contingent to be more heavily armed, while the...” he frowned, “let's call it the Drakon River brigade, should be composed of more subtle, ambush-trained soldiers. My men definitely fall into the West Road brigade.”

“We have three golems at our disposal, Warden. I can consign two of the control rods to whoever will lead the West Road brigade.” offered King Bhelen.

“Then the werewolves will split beneath the two brigades. Swiftrunner will lead them while traveling along the Drakon River pass. This way, both forces should be balanced. Do you agree, Wardens?” the Lady of the Forest inquired.  
The very idea to separate the army made Neria uneasy. Sadly, the more the leaders talked the more she had to agree: it was the only way. 

“I endorse this plan and the division of the forces. If you all agree, I will split the supply carts equally. Riordan? Neria?” Loghain asked, turning towards the other two Wardens. 

Neria nodded, just like Riordan. The Orlesian Warden added “There's a detail to discuss. But first, I'll let you finish, Loghain. I can see you're not done.”

The former Teyrn resumed speaking. “Considering the different... purposes of the two brigades, Arl Eamon, Bann Teagan, King Alistair and myself should be part of the West Road contingent. King Bhelen, Neria, Riordan and Greagoir should lead the army through the mountain pass.”

Neria opened her mouth to speak, but she found herself unable to utter a single sound. She would not march with Loghain? There was no trace of turmoil in his voice. How could he propose something like that so calmly? 

“No,” Arl Eamon steely declared. “King Alistair will travel with the mountain pass brigade. The West Road route is the most risky, and nobody wants another Cailan tragedy. Plus, if we die and the King lives, hope will burn in the soldiers' hearts.” The Arl's jaw clenched. He wasn't clearly going to take no for an answer. 

“What?” Alistair burst out. “I'm not here to stay safe, Eamon! I'm here to fight just like any other soldier!”

“There won't be another Cailan tragedy!” Loghain bellowed. Then he continued, a lot more calmy. “All due respect, you should listen to the Arl, Your Majesty,” he quietly remarked, fixing his icy gaze on Alistair. “His reasoning makes sense. You will fight all the same, because none of us will have the luxury to be sheltered. Rest assured.” 

A glimpse of surprise enlightened Eamon, Teagan and Alistair's faces. As Neria tamed her own shock and her usual poise kicked in, she read it all on their faces—they were all surprised to hear the 'traitor' speak favorably of the King's safety. 

“Fair enough,” Alistair gave in, even though a bit reluctantly. 

“There's one more thing,” said Riordan, extending a look to all present. “Let's not forget about the Archdemon. Any Grey Warden can sense both the beast and the darkspawn. Every group should bring two Wardens along. My King,” Riordan shot a glance at Alistair, who was already opening his mouth to reply, “I know you... left the Wardens, but you can still sense our enemy all the same. If you join the mountain pass' brigade, I will pair with Loghain and join with the West Road. And lastly, I ask for a private audience with you. I understand we are done here, is that right? As of now, we can only sleep and pray to the Maker.” He shot Neria and Loghain a knowing look, and left with Alistair. Afterwards, the other leaders began abandoning the tent one by one.

**_§§_ **

Neria stood tall, l like a tree planted firmly in the ground, her hand holding the wooden markers tight. She was waiting to be the left alone, to throw away her confident façade. She focused on the map, but felt her resolve cracking already. When heavy steps neared and a long shadow covered the map, she didn't look up.

“Listen...” Loghain started, his tone caring and calm,“can we talk?”

She had no idea how to reply. Talk about what?? What was she supposed to say? She had no idea what he expected to hear, and she was damn afraid to say the wrong thing, to burst into a rage, tears or anything that could drive him away. So, she resorted to her best defense: self-control. But when she raised her eyes, her resolve turned to dust. Awkwardness and indecisiveness were clearly written all over his face. Neria found herself speechless. A couple of times Loghain had been scared, or even uncertain, but she had never seen him this disoriented before.

He clearly had taken her silence as a yes, because he spoke again. “You're not angry, are you?” he asked, hesitantly.

The mere thought of being separated from him filled her with rage. She frowned and opened her mouth to talk, but fell silent when he raised his hands in resignation. “Fine. Fine. You are, and mine was a stupid question. I should have known.” 

Slowly, she began to relax a bit, but her expression became none the sweeter. 

Loghain sighed, looking away in embarrassment and took a couple of uneasy steps away. Then, he turned towards her once again and resumed his speech. “Look, if there was another solution I would have proposed it.” As he continued, he touched her hands lightly. “I don't enjoy the idea more than you, Neria, but it's necessary. You're a smart woman, so you're certainly aware of it. But...” he gently caressed her palms, “I can understand your resentment.”

They were at the crossroad once again—honesty versus detachment. Honesty had earned her his affection, but this time, she wasn't sure he could really understand. He was the heroic one, the man ready to do right by his country, while she was brooding about her own fears. Suddenly, she realized that he had accepted her whole, virtues and vices. She couldn't possibly lose him over that matter. 

“It's just that,” she confessed, “I feel ashamed, Loghain. The rest of the world is focused on the invasion that could destroy us all, and here I am, ruminating about my own feelings and craving to be your number one priority instead of bowing to the greater good...” Too terrified of having said something too much, Neria held her breath and waited.

At first, he didn't speak at all. He quietly caressed the skin under the velvet sleeves, then weaved their fingers together. His hands reached her waist and held her hips, pulling her closer. His breath tickled her ear. “If you traveled south from South Reach and across the Southron Hills, you would reach the Brecilian Passage. At the end of it, you will meet Gwaren's strong walls. The only entrance is a single, round-shaped gate, whose central, upper section is a spike pointing towards the sky. Even from outside, you could admire its guard towers and their domes. Gwaren's architecture is like the Amarantine Ocean flowing through her, gentle-curved like sea waves.” Slowly, she threw her arms around his neck, and he kissed her forehead. “If we could leave this war behind us, I would take you to Gwaren right now and personally show you my town.” His voice cringed with bitterness. “If there was even the tiniest chance, I would do anything in my power to make you my number one priority, because...” he hesitated. “You have been the first in years who has bothered to wonder who I am, what I want and the reasons behind my actions. For the rest of the world, I'm the Hero of River Dane. Just a symbol, not a person.” Loghain sighed. “I'm aware we can't afford any of that, I know that we may never cross Gwaren's gate side by side, but I can't repress that desire. As you see, I myself am far from perfect.”

Neria listened to every word. She concentrated on his description so intensely that she could almost see Gwaren. She realized she desperately wanted to see that city, because that’s where he had spent the bulk of his life. “I'm so sorry,” she whispered, her face buried into his neck. She loved how perfectly her face fit in between his neck and his shoulder. “I know you are not perfect, that you're a man and not a symbol. It's just that... even if some of your actions may not always have been commendable, your intentions have always been pure. I've never met someone as amazing as you.” 

Loghain stared at her, a thoughtful look on his face. He began caressing her back, slowly, quietly. When he began telling his tale, his tone lowered. “Once, when I a young boy, the Orlesians came to collect taxes. Unfortunately, we had no money left. So, they restrained me and my father while the officer claimed his taxes by raping my mother. When he was done with her, he cut her throat.” A flash of anger and helplessness darkened his face, as if he was reliving the moment. He continued, slower than before. “Many years later, I brought Maric to the rebels' camp. He was just a boy, but he was the son of the Rebel Queen nonetheless. The usurpers' men came for him. To take him to safety, I had to leave my father behind. I had to watch those monsters murder him.” He looked beyond her shoulder, his voice became distant. “I knew our camp was condemned anyway, that sooner or later they would have come for Maric. It didn't stop me from craving vengeance every single step of my life.” Loghain blinked, and now he was seeing her again, instead of his memories. He briefly smiled, as if the sight of her soothed his wounds. “All my life, I've been armed with my loyalty to Maric and my hate. So, now you know you're not the only one who was carried away by negative feelings.” 

Neria was surprised to notice how he seemed somewhat apprehensive. But she couldn't help but admiring him even more. While she had desired to make her parents pay, he had lived with their memory sealed into his heart. And then, she understood. The West Road brigade would march into eye of the storm. He didn't want to put her in danger, to have her by his side as the horde would have charged. He didn't want to relive what had happened with his father. Without thinking, she stood on tiptoe and gently pressed her lips on his, a touch lacking in the urgency of their first night together. In response, he pulled her against his chest, deepening the kiss. He bit her lip, sweetly enough to not make her crave for more. Not just yet. She pulled back only enough for her to talk, her breath still on his lips. “I'll never ask you to be perfect,” she promised in a soft whisper. “Riordan and I could easily exchange, but I won't ask for it. I understand, you don't want me to be in the middle of the battle. You wish to protect me. Just...” she clutched her nails into the back of his neck, a plea filling her eyes, “...come back to me. Promise me you will.”

Reacting to her intense gesture, Loghain ran his hands along her hips. This time, his touch burned with desire: his fingers fondled her skin with urgency. He locked eyes with hers, a burning passion rising inside them. “I will come back to you. I promise.” He slid his hands under her bottom, lifting her from the ground without any effort. 

“Someone may come searching for us,” the mage whispered, while circling his waist with her legs. Despite her own warning, she was already unclasping his armor, eager to savor that stolen moment of freedom. Of happiness.

“Let them come. I don't care,” he murmured into her mouth before laying her down.


	10. A road to doom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While travelling on the West Road, Arl Eamon approaches Loghain with a, sort of, offer of peace. But in war there's no time for peace: the army meets a darkspawn squad and Loghain has to deal with it. 
> 
> And, of course, bad things happen.

# A ROAD TO DOOM

_**Dragon 31, West Road** _   
_**2 days prior to the final battle** _

It was raining and the comfortable West Road had turned into a muddy trap. The supply wagons' wheels had become bogged down more times than the army would have been comfortable with, not to mention how the continuous rain obstructed their line of sight. The road still bordered the Bannorn's plains and hills, and thus was quite flat, but once the hills became low mountains, marching with the mud up to the knee would be a majestic pain in the ass. Yet despite the heavy rain and thanks to the werewolves' senses, their awareness of their surroundings was not an issue. The werewolves had been dispatched to the front of the column and ordered to report any suspicious movement in the area.

Loghain envied the brigade that travelled along the pass; stone couldn't be transformed into mud. He was riding amongst the vanguard, along with Eamon and Riordan; right behind them, Teagan captained Eamon's soldiers and Ser Gilmore acted as his second-in-command. Oghren had taken upon himself to keep the soldiers' spirit up with his usual jokes. 

The Hero of River Dane turned to his right. Tigh, Neria's mabari, was marching as well. He hadn't planned to be accompanied by the wardog, the idea had been Neria's. Before the West Road brigade had left, the mage had approached him, the dog by her side, and had asked him—or to better say ordered him to bring Tigh with him and return both in one piece. They could protect each other, she had said. Neria knelt beside the wardog and whispered something in his ear. When Tigh had barked in response, she had replied with a thin smile. Afterwards she turned and left before he could even try to object. 

“Halt! Wagon bogged down!” called a voice from the rearguard. Loghain turned his horse, an annoyed grimace on his face. Sadly, not even the strategic skill of the leaders could prevent a wagon from running aground or prevent the rain from falling.

 

“I'm starting to think we will be significantly delayed,” someone by his side stated. It was Arl Eamon.. The former Teyrn was taken by surprise; not because Arl was following his train of thought—he was, after all, a seasoned general too—but because had actually Arl addressed him directly. Regardless, that was neither the moment nor the place to discuss the years-long silence or the hostility between them.

“If the weather doesn't improve, we may need to leave the wagons and order the soldiers to carry their own share of supplies,” Loghain declared in response. 

The healers and soldiers were doing their best to lift the submerged wheel, but their efforts didn't seem to pay off. He was starting to feel anguished. What if the second brigade had reached the rendezvous point too early and was spotted by the horde? What of Neria? He had promised to come back to her, and he intended to keep that promise. They had never given voice to their mutual feelings, but he had looked into her eyes long enough to know that if he broke his vow, he would have broken her heart. It would also break his own knowing he was responsible for her pain.

“It may be the only solution.” Arl Eamon agreed. Apparently, there was nothing left to say but nevertheless, he kept staring at him as if he was studying him carefully. 

In the end, Loghain almost lost his patience. “What, Eamon?” Loghain snapped. “If you have something to say, just say it. We don't have all day. In fact, I hope we won't have another minute, because I’d rather resume the march.” 

Before speaking again, Eamon looked around. Loghain followed his gaze. At the same time, he noted Teagan was conferring with some soldiers, while Oghren was mumbling by himself; everyone was too focused on his own worry and angst.

“I wish to thank you for having supported my motion about Alistair, Loghain,” Eamon quietly stated. “To be honest, I wouldn't have expected you to care for the safety of your king, not after what happened at Ostagar. Though, we’re certainly all aware that should Alistair fall in battle, your daughter will be the one sitting on the throne.” 

 

It took Loghain a huge amount of patience to swallow Eamon's polite insult. Getting into an argument regarding Cailan's death wasn't something the army would gain any benefit from; besides, Eamon wouldn’t have understood his position, not like Neria had. No good would come out of convincing Eamon that he wasn't a treacherous bastard, anyway. It didn't matter anymore. In a matter of days, he—all of them—might be dead. Still, he couldn't avoid mentioning Cailan at all, after considering what the Arlhad said. 

“I don't expect you to believe me, Eamon, but my intervention wouldn't have saved Cailan. He was doomed anyway. I even warned him that his plan was full of holes, but,” Loghain forced himself to not dwell any longer on the issue than necessary and to not paint Cailan like the fool he actually was. “He was the King and he had every right to refuse my advice. He was absolutely sure he could stop the Blight at Ostagar.” Loghain cut short, hoping to put an end to that uneasy conversation. “As for Maric's boy, you have a point, Eamon. There's really nothing more to it.”

A cry of triumph filled the air—the men had managed to free the wheel from the mud. Loghain moved his heels, ready to spur the horse, only to have his reins pulled. The Arl had stopped him, and was contemplating him thoughtfully. Loghain softly pulled the reins in response, enough to signal Eamon to let go, but not enough to irritate the horse.

“Maric regarded you like a brother,” the Arl began, “surely one with whom he had unfinished business, but a brother nevertheless. And Rowan...” Eamon exhaled, closing his eyes for a second. “I saw the look in her eyes whenever your name was pronounced at court. It was sad and sorrowful, but never hateful or angered. Whatever she hid beneath her eyes, she never thought ill of you.” An embarrassing silence fell between the two men. “Before Ostagar,” Eamon continued, “I would never have called you a traitor, nor pictured you selling slaves or poisoning another man. However, two days ago, you voted in favor of Alistair's well-being. I'm still not sure who you are, Loghain, but maybe the truth is different from what I was sure of.” Eamon released the reins. “I will never know, because you won't tell me.”

The moment he was free to leave, Loghain moved forward without a word, leaving the Arl behind him. Eamon was right on one thing, he had no intentions to engage in a heart-to-heart with him.

He allowed the horse to take a few more steps before stopping. Something was wrong. 

He lifted a hand to command the army to halt, listening to whatever the wind could lead to his ears. At first, he heard nothing but silence. It was a weird, unsettling silence, as if all the sounds of nature had disappeared. Then, something changed. In the distance, two deers grazed, northwest from his position and out of range from the archers. Suddenly, the two animals raised their heads, pricked their ears. Their tails stood on an end. They bolted as if the Archdemon itself had started giving them chase. The sound of paws thudding in the mud soon followed. Witherfang appeared on the top the nearest hill, her paws red with blood, surrounded by her fellow werewolves. Their bloody fangs made more than one soldier startle on his saddle, but Loghain was more concerned about their injuries.

“Darkspawn! We are under attack!” growled Cassian, the werewolf acting as the lieutenant in an absence of Swiftrunner. “We managed to slow them down, but they will be here in a matter of minutes!”

Loghain wasn't surprised. It had to happen, sooner or later. Putting aside every other thought, he set his mind on the forthcoming battle. 

“Archers, in line! Nock and draw, wait for my signal to shoot! Swordsman, protect archers, then take the front once the archers have shot! Templars and werewolves, protect and support the swordsmen!”!” Loghain commanded. 

The soldiers quickly formed their lines—some chose to fight on horseback, others stood on foot. The mounted archers nocked and drew skillfully and quickly. They were well-trained; maybe not as much as the Night Elves, but excellent archers nonetheless. The swordsman unsheathed their longswords; among them were Eamon, Riordan, and Teagan. The werewolves, positioned at a far enough distance from the horses so not scare them, were snarling and howling their challenge to the enemy. 

Their enemy didn't keep them waiting. 

A large darkspawn squad crested the top of the hill. The moment Loghain saw them, he knew that they were different from the ones he had met in the Deep Roads thirty years ago. The monsters he, Maric, Katriel, and Rowan had met were a gang of half-naked monsters, armed mainly with the terror they could elicit. On the contrary, the squad he was about to face was ready for war. Their well-forged armors hid their tainted skin and their swords and bows were both sophisticated and high-quality. In a flash, Loghain remembered how the monsters had cornered them in the Deep Roads, despite their lack of training and tactical ability. These darkspawn were better armed and better trained. The darkspawn snarled back at the wolves, their hunger for death in their eyes. It was time.

“Archers, shoot!” cried Loghain. 

The hiss of arrows hiss filled the air, followed with the thud of darkspawn corpses falling to the ground. Nevertheless, some managed to escape injury by shielding themselves with a comrade's body, while others seemed only lightly scratched. When the small group of surviving darkspawn descended upon the army, it met the solid barrier formed by the swordsmen; steel met steel. The archers aimed at the remaining enemies that descended the hill in an effort to stop them even before they could get to join the melee. The darkspawn were hungry for blood, lured by the mere presence of the living; they hit with brute force, but lacked in patience and planning. On the contrary, the Fereldan army fought more tactically, in an effort to counterattack in a more efficient way, while and the werewolves' deadly claws helped greatly in thinning the enemy's numbers. 

Loghain parried a genlock's blow, hitting the creature with his shield before renting open its chest. He kicked the body away, breaking free his sword and searched for approaching enemies or soldiers in need of assistance. It was all going smoothly, maybe even too much smoothly. 

Suddenly, the darkspawn began to counterattack more ferociously, as if something reinvigorated them. A fearsome, bestial cry filled the air. Loghain turned towards the sound. On the hill stood a massive Hurlock, the largest he had ever seen, a heavily armored mountain of muscle. The horned helm upon its monstrous head made it look even more ferocious. It was an alpha hurlock. Riordan had mentioned them before, warning everyone to never underestimate them. Behind the alpha hurlock, appeared a second darkspawn squad, come in support of the comrades. One of Arl Eamon's soldiers lowered his shield to inspect the monster, which was enough to allow a hurlock to stab him in the shoulder. The sight of the alpha's figure plunged the Ferelden soldiers into terror and confusion; with trembling hands, the archers aimed at the figure, missing their target or bouncing their arrows on metal instead. The alpha hurlock raised its greatsword to the sky, oblivious to its comrades falling under the archers' attack—he was targeting Riordan and Loghain. The two Wardens exchanged a brief look. The sooner the alpha was killed, the sooner the battle would end. Loghain raised his longsword in defiance, while Riordan disappeared into shadow, ready to backstab the beast once it engaged and focused on Loghain.

As if the alpha had given a wordless order, the minor darkspawn ignored the Wardens and charged the other soldiers, as. Their leader advanced, exploiting the hill's slope to gain speed in his run. Loghain remained still, his shield lifted to protect his torso and his longsword's tip pointed in the direction of his enemy; he waited until the alpha was a few feet away, then moved to the side in order to break the monster's run. When the alpha's rising diagonal blow aimed for Loghain’s shoulder, Loghain he met his opponent's sword with his. The blow lightly impacted on his arm, but he didn't lose a second before disengaging his weapon and aiming at its torso with a horizontally oriented cut before the beast attempted to hit him again. Unfortunately, this time, the alpha was ready to strike—its greatsword descended upon Loghain's longsword in a powerful downwards diagonal blow, driving the weapon away. Loghain clung to the hilt to avoid being disarmed, but was forced to step back to dodge his opponent's weapon. He caught a glimpse of Riordan; the Warden had finished off a genlock and was on his way to help him against the alpha. Reinvigorated, Loghain stepped back, in an attempt to taunt the alpha hurlock to attack. Growling, the beastly warrior chased. Yes, it was monstrously strong and more disciplined than his brothers, but still determined in his hunt. 

Then, the alpha stopped, howling in pain. Riordan was behind it, one of his daggers stuck into its neck and the other into its right shoulder. Loghain didn't hesitate and advanced to deliver what, he hoped, would be the final blow. Gathering all his force, he thrust the longword into the beast's abdomen, cutting through armor, skin and muscle. The alpha hurlock spit blood on his face, but instead of falling on the ground it brandished its greatsword once again and attacked. The weapon hissed through the air as it made its way to Loghain's shoulder. Panicking and in pain, Loghain barely managed to extract the sword in time to avoid a fatal blow and as he stumbled back, the greatsword descended so near to his ear that he could feel the metal cutting the air. That last attack, though, seemed to have left the alpha hurlock worn out; it stumbled and fell on its knees but its eyes were filled with hate and burning with a desire for vengeance. Loghain and Riordan acted simultaneously, as if they had planned the move: Riordan cut its throat from behind while Loghain thrust the sword into its flesh for the second time. And finally, their efforts paid off. The mighty alpha lost his balance and fell on its back, losing grip of its weapon. 

Riordan exchanged a brief, victorious smile with Loghain. The former Teyrn nodded in recognition of their victory, but the smile was short-lived. A shriek appeared behind Riordan, its claw aiming at the Grey Warden's throat. 

“Behind you!” Loghain shouted.

Suddenly alert, Riordan turned, to avoid the attack and face his enemy. It happened in a matter of seconds, but in Loghain's eyes time stretched out. Deep down, he knew that the warning had come too late, that the shriek was moving too swiftly. Loghain could only watch in horror as the deadly claw cut through Riordan's leather and slashed his chest. 

Riordan's eyes opened wide, blood sprayed from his deadly wound, his mouth opened into an “o”.

In rage and desperation, Loghain impaled the shriek while it triumphantly cried. 

Following the death of their alpha, the Archdemons' minions started falling one by one, unable to fight against the Fereldan army. When the last darkspawn crashed on the ground, the air filled with cheerful cries; but Loghain merely stared at Riordan's lifeless body. The army had won the battle, but he and Neria had lost everything else.


	11. On blacken'd wings does deceit take flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the road to what is meant to be the final confrontation with the Archdemon, Neria finds out that, sometimes, the past is branded into the skin enough to make it impossible to let go of it. 
> 
> And when the two armies finally clash, things don't go exactly as planned...

# ON BLACKEN'D WINGS DOES DECEIT TAKE FLIGHT

**_Dragon 31, Drakon River's pass_ **   
**_2 days prior to the final battle_ **

It was raining. The Drakon River’s pass meandered uphill, and even though the rocky terrain all day long and now the red light of sunset embroidered the sky in a magnificent red crown, and colored the eternal snow atop Dragon Peak a poetic rose. 

Despite their incoming arrival to Denerim, the battle that awaited them and all the blood she was about to see, Neria couldn't help but be enchanted by that view. She had always loved how the sunrise colored Lake Calendhad's waters, but it was the first time she witnessed a mountain sunset. She was riding at the head of the column, together with King Bhelen, Alistair, Sten and Gregoir. As planned, King Bhelen guided the army through the pass. His guidance had been especially useful during the last mile of the march—to their right, a solid, reassuring wall of rock stood, but on the other side, the path had offered nothing but a chasm and the roaring of the river. After a couple of hours, though, the road had widened and the canyon had turned into a sloping plain, , occasionally turning into a valley. According to the dwarven King, they were about to reach a village that could be used as camp for the night. Reaching it, though, required caution; the streets were narrow enough to turn into a trap for a surprise attack. In order to prevent that possibility, werewolves squads had been sent to scout the valleys. So far though, the army hadn’t met any obstacles—a fact that made the soldiers confident and helped to erase the terrifying memory of Lothering.. An understandable feeling, sure. However, when Neria heard a booming chorus of laughter pressed her lips together. That was careless, and besides, unnecessary. This could call for unwanted attention. 

“Sten, explain those idiots that we're not here to throw a party,” Neria ordered the Qunari.

Practical as ever, Sten nodded and turned the horse. 

With a stern look on his face, Greagoir declared, “I'll make sure my Templars don't take those soldiers as an example.” He promptly left.  
She and Alistair rode in silence for a couple of minutes. She had, after all, nothing to say, nor did she wish to discuss the incident that had occurred the night before the army had departed from Denerim.

“You were wrong,” Alistair suddenly stated. Despite the nature of his words, his voice was quiet and controlled.

For a moment, Neria considered the option to not answer him at all, simple as that. To be dragged into a bitter argument wouldn’t have done any good, plus, she and Alistair had done nothing but quarrel during their travels. 

“When we were leaving Orzammar, you said that if I wanted to rule I should have learnt something from Bhelen. However, had I done as you suggested, I would have had someone murder Loghain that last night at Redcliffe Castle. Or perhaps sometime during the march,” Alistair continued.

Neria’s immediate impulse was to pull the reins and stop. What was he babbling about? Murdering Loghain? It was only when her hands were already tightening around the leather that she remembered the whole column behind her. 

She took a deep breath. “Do you seriously think it’s the right time to have this conversation, Alistair?” She turned to give the other Warden, the new King of Ferelden, another annoyed look. “Rather, indeed, why are you even bringing this up? And tell me. Are you going to have me hanged because I refuse to engage in conversation with the King of Ferelden?” The memory of Alistair's pompous behavior was still fresh in her mind. 

In response, Alistair sighed. “We could die tomorrow, what are we waiting for? There will never be a perfect moment.” He paused for a second before continuing. “Look, Neria, we never saw eye to eye. Yes, as of today I consider the majority of the decisions you have taken during our quest to be morally questionable. I still can't forgive you for saving Loghain. To sum it up, I don't like you that much. But...”

Upon hearing that unnecessary preamble, Neria was already twisting her mouth in annoyance. 

“..but despite all of this, you have brought as this far. I should have taken the reins instead of complaining and letting you lead the army, though. I shouldn’t have let you act the way you did. If I had taken a stand, perhaps fewer things would weigh on my conscience today. However, in sparing Loghain you forced me to take matters into my own hands and to man up. And for that,” he admitted, “I owed you a thank you. In despising me, you somehow have made me a better man.”

The entire speech made Neria frown. Somehow, she had to admit, it made sense.“How ironic. You had to hate Loghain that much come to this conclusion. You, the righteous one, had to chew all your hate to become a strong King,” she dryly commented. “And to turn your back on Duncan, by refusing your Warden duties.”

Alistair scowled. But, surprisingly, he didn't get upset. “I must admit that you are right. Sometimes I still wonder what Duncan would think of me. Sometimes I’m ashamed, Neria. I suppose I'm more selfish than I thought, because I can't bring myself to call Loghain brother.” He turned to look at her. A quiet, serious sparkle brightened his eyes. “I'm still fighting for the Blight and as King, I'll always keep the Wardens in high regard. If you, Riordan or Loghain should fail, I'll take this on myself to end the Blight.”

At the mention of the final blow and its consequences, Neria shuddered. She hoped that both Loghain and Riordan had survived their journey. For the first time in her life, she prayed the Maker. Suddenly, she wished for that final battle to come—only so she could see Loghain again. “I'm honored to fight by your side, Alistair” she confessed. 

Out of the blue, Bhelen gave the halt, his hand up towards the sky. Neria and Alistair repeated the gesture, in order to be sure that the entire army received the signal. As Sten and Greagoir rejoined the head of the column, Bhelen approached. “The village is just behind that curve, Warden.” 

Standing on the stirrup Neria could even glimpse the roof of what might have been an outlying house. 

She searched the crowd and called over Leliana and Zevran. Both the rogues regarded her neutrally, waiting for her command. “You two, scout the village. Hide in the shadows as much as you can. If you notice any danger ahead, come back and report. Although, I’m sure that if that were the case, we would have already been attacked.”

Leliana and Zevran dismounted and left immediately, disappearing in the long shadows the sunset provided. As the night approached, the soldiers started to look around nervously. The night reminded them of the incoming battle, and made them wish for a peaceful rest. Maybe this was the last of their lives. Anxiety had tainted everyone and infected every mind with nothing but a sideways glance or a whisper. She waited for what seemed ages— and when a slender, elven hand touched Neria’s forearm, she almost jumped of her saddle. Zevran and Leliana were staring at her, their faces unsure and worried. 

“So?” she urged them.

“The village seems empty,” Leliana said. She exchanged a puzzled look with Zevran. “But... Neria, it's filled of corpses. Both darkspawn and ghouls.” 

Without a word, took the blow. It was unpleasant news, but nothing they couldn't take on. Finally, she nodded. “We will camp here tonight. However, we need to take care of the corpses of the former inhabitants first. We will give them a proper burial.” Ignoring the soldiers' whispering, she ordered, “Let's move.” 

The army approached the village warily. As they inched closer, Neria could discern the shape of the houses. They were nothing more than wood huts, clearly neglected and abandoned after their inhabitants’ deaths. Some were practically falling to pieces, their wood rotten. Silence spoke of the people who had died there. Nevertheless, it was better than the prospect of a wet tent. Despite the rogues' reassurance, every solider looked around as if he was expecting an ambush. 

And then, they saw the corpses. Someone had been killed in a doorway, others had fallen in the middle of the main road. About a dozen darkspawn corpses laid on the ground alongside with the humans. They were the villagers that had obviously fought against the beasts. All in all, darkspawn included, Neria counted fifty dead. Various weapons were scattered on the ground. Cautiously, the soldiers began to dismount and tie their horses to the nearest fence—the mere presence of the tainted corpses made the animals nervous and barely manageable. 

As Neria secured her mount, one of the last flashes of light made something hidden behind one of the bodies, twinkle. It was a momentary flash, but enough for her to take notice. The mage touched Sten's arm, pointing at the corpse. Watchful as ever, the Qunari unsheathed his greatsword, using it to flip it over. A shiny longword shone into the red, dying light. The blade bore no trace of soil, stain or rust. That weapon had not been left under the rain for days and looked ready to be used.

Before either of them could give the alarm, several cries filled the air. The corpses started rising and the one they had just flipped over graspied the shining sword. 

Somewhere in the village, a desperate cry rose above the others as undead teeth sank deep into flesh. Chaos exploded. Sten promply beheaded the animated corpse, while Neria crushed the body of another against a cabin's wall thanks to a Stonefist. She quickly looked around. Knight-Commander Greagoir was fighting a group of undead alongside his templars. 

“Sten! The command on the field is yours!” she shouted, and without another word she turned around and ran towards Greagoir. Corpses don’t rise from the dead without someone to call them back, which meant that a darkspawn Emissary wasn’t far. When a one-armed corpse stood in her way, she swung the staff and crushed its rotten head. 

“Greagoir!” 

The Knight-Commander briefly surveyed the camp, ensuring that no threat was about to menace him or his men, before taking the luxury to look at her. “We need to kill that, or else we'll be stuck here until we have turned those corpses into useless poultices!”

The moment Neria plunged into the battle, it became her entire world. Everyone was fighting, parrying and slowly gaining ground, as she made her way through the crowd of enemies. Everything turned into bestial survival. The ruthless nature she had tried so hard to suppress since the Landsmeet got strengthened with each blow, each fallen enemy, until all that remained was the color of her enemy’s blood. It was the only way for her ticket to get out alive, to get back to Loghain. So she kept advancing and kept fighting.

* * *

Neria opened her eyes. At first, she saw blood—the black Darkspawn blood that fell in rivulets from their eyes, that dripped from their pierced head, that oozed from their sliced torsos. She felt the cuts on her palms, the price she had paid for her blood magic, tingle in response as if they were calling for the Darkspawn blood. Hadn’t she drunk Avernus’ potion? Maybe, she could have… 

Suddenly, a powerful migraine exploded in her head. She blinked and the vision of blood disappeared. All she could see was the clouded sky above her. Even the light escaping from a cloud was enough to make her cover her eyes. 

“Drink this.”

Those two, simple words boomed into her head as if they were two nails drilling into her skull. Then, something cold pressed against her hand. Even behind the glass, she could feel the lyrium and its alluring whispers. 

Neria opened the vial andgulped down the contents in a rush. As the blue substance ran into her body and in her veins, her migraine slowly started to reside until the pain went away completely. Now, she felt the hard terrain under her back, and the smell of the rotten wood filled her senses. She noticed how only a portion of the sky was visible and a partially damaged roof protected her from the rain. 

Sensing that someone was watching her, Neria turned. Knight-Commander Greagoir towered over her witha stern expression on his face. 

“You’ve been reckless. Sucking away that Emissary’s magic has almost drained your own,” Greagoir coldly stated.

The Emissary. Neria remembered that dreadful figure—a tall and lean creature whose ears resembled those of an elf. Its mage’s robes were tattered and ripped. Its sick-pale skin, as white as that of a dead fish's, contrasted with the burning hatred inside its eyes. She, Greagoir, and the Templars had chased it down until it had sought refuge upon a hill. While the Templars were climbing the hill, the Emissary had created a protective glyph, preventing them from coming near enough to strike. Even Greagoir hadn’t been able to dispel it. And when it faded, leaving the emissary vulnerable, that powerful creature had summoned both an ice blizzard and a lighting tempest. The combination of both spells had given birth to a monstrously dangerous magical storm, enough to slow the templars surrounding in pain. The Emissary had been ready to sacrifice itself in order bring his enemies down as well.

Without faltering, Neria stood and stared back at the Knight-Commander. “It was necessary. There was no other way than to nullify its mana. If I hadn’t acted, your men would have all died.”

Greagoir threw a punch at the wall. “You’re missing the point, Surana. You were out of your mind. These people, these men,” he pointed at the door leading outside the hut, “expect you to guide them. Our battle with the Archdemon is finally within grasp, and what do you do? You go on a suicidal showdown with an Emissary just because—”

Neria took a step towards the Templar, holding out a hand to silence him. “I saved your sorry ass, Greagoir, and that of your men! I’ve had enough of your accusations and criticisms! Do as you like, don’t trust me. But don’t ever dare to question my—“

“Surana, you were not in control!” the Knight-Commander snapped, waving a hand as if to dismiss her words. “All you saw was those creatures’ blood! I doubt you were thinking about saving another life when you struck down the Emissary. All you wanted was to prove that you can burn the world down with your magic.”

She fell silent. She remembered all too well the excited sensation filling her when she had awakened. It was an echo of blood magic’s power. 

Greagoir simply shook his head in response. “You almost fooled me. I had started thinking that perhaps you had become more than the presumptuous, power-seeking mage I watched grow up at the Circle. I started to wonder if you were genuine in supporting the Annulment of Kinloch Hold. Instead,” his gaze grew even colder, “you consigned Irving, the man who treated you like a daughter, to the Chantry for something that certainly isn’t goodwill. You’re too corrupted for any kind of goodwill. You should have been handed to the Chantry instead of Irving, Surana.” He turned his back on her and headed out, leaving her alone. 

Neria barely heard the door slam. Greagoir’s words echoed in her head. He was right about so, so many things. Yes, she didn’t care about the Templars’ lives. Yes, she had been intoxicated with the fury of battle. The only pure thought in her mind had been her reason to survive—to see Loghain again. She had thought that their love could cleanse her from all the wrongness. How very wrong she had been. Neria fell on her knees, tracing her blood magic scars and cursing each one of them. 

 

**_Dragon 31, Rendezvous point, sunset_**  
 ** _The day before the final battle_**

The ground was shaking. The biggest army Neria had ever seen was parading in front of them. Hurlocks and genlocks were marching side by side in the center of the column. Many dozens of shrieks appeared from the shadows, moving along the flanks and checking for incoming trouble. Amongst them slumbered giant, monstrous ogres, their horns as big as a man. The top-ranked darkspawn such as the emissaries and alphas constituted the vanguard. They served as the generals, the ones chosen to capture Denerim first and then the whole Ferelden. 

The mountain pass brigade crouched down behind a crest of rock, not far from the last curve in the road. They were waiting for the remainder of the army to reach the rendezvous point. Neria was starting to feel nervous. Where were Loghain's men? Where was he? A sudden touch on her arm startled her, bringing her back to the present. 

“The West Road brigade is almost here," Zevran whispered. “They're using bushes and trees along the road, hoping to surprise the horde with archers, I suppose.” 

Neria nodded. “Good. Now,” she called for Greagoir, Alistair, Sten and Bhelen's attention. “I'll aid the templars' archers and try to keep the vanguard busy. We all know what those emissaries are capable of, and I don't want to find out how easily a hurlock alpha could split me into pieces. So, once we have the vanguard's attention,” she turned to look at the men she had gathered “you will guide our swordsmen into battle. Everything clear?”. 

No one talked. Only Greagoir threw her a suspicious look, but not even he would defy her command.

**_§§_ **

Loghain could feel the soft rustle of bushes. The archers, moving on the side of the road, were getting ready to lie in wait. The enemy would not have heard them anyway. The horde was too much excited to finally have Denerim at their grasp. He and the rest of the brigade were waiting before that last curve of the road before the city gates. Loghain counted. And finally at five minutes, he gave the order. Everyone was ready for the run. This possibly was the final run of their lives.

“For Ferelden!” Loghain cried, before spurring his horse. He and the swordsmen were galloping towards the horde, their swords and axes unsheathed and glimmering in the red light of sunrise. It was a four hundred meter dash. The horde had finally taken notice of their presence. A cloud of arrows hit the darkspawn. Loghain’s archers had sung the first note. And despite the pile of death he was about to jump into, despite the menacing ogres ready to run him over, Loghain smiled when thunder filled the air and trapped part of the horde within a tempest. 

 

The two armies clashed. One of the horsemen flew up, horse and all, when an ogre slammed its fist into them. But they weren't alone. From the upper crest of the mountain pass, more arrows flew into the air—and suddenly, the lightning tempest grew larger and colder, evolving into a tremendous mix of lightning, cold wind, and ice. Even more darkspawn were dragged in and cried out in agony. Careful to ride far from the deadly, elemental trap, the dwarves descended onto the field. One by one, the werewolves attacked the nearest prey. The plan was working and Ferelden had many tricks upon the sleeve.

And then, the biggest shadow he had ever seen covered the sun. An archaic terror filled his bones, his muscles, his blood. Even the agonizing cries of the darkspawn trapped within magical storm turned into joyful shouts. The whole Fereldan army raised its gaze to the sky and fell silent. The Archdemon itself floated overhead. It was the biggest dragon Loghain had ever seen. Its tail and limbs were equipped with long, cutting spikes, its teeth could have torn an ogre open. And yet, it possessed a terrifying beauty. The Archdemon roared, keeping its slender, glittering eyes right on its brothers, the horde. Many Fereldan soldiers fell from their horses, stunned, their hands on their ears to brace against the piercing sound. For a moment, Loghain almost lost control, then something shook him, keeping him vigil.

“Everyone take cover! Now!” he ordered as he frantically galloped towards the vegetation. 

Upon hearing his voice, the beast turned to look at him. For a moment, the Archdemon locked eyes with his, licked its lips, then opened its mouth wide. A spur of purple flames engulfed the men who hadn't ran fast enough. For a split second, the burning heat grazed Loghain before he managed to take cover.

The darkspawn horde was running back along the West Road, the Archdemon following them closely and then disappeared into the distance..

The Fereldan army gathered only when its shadow had disappeared. 

The road was now empty, except for the dead. All that remained was nothing more than a burned, indistinguishable form.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final battle will eventually take place, of course. But we're not there yet :)


	12. Our swan song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the eve of the battle. 
> 
> Ferelden mourns its dead.  
> Loghain and Neria cherish one last moment together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is undoubtedly my favorite chapter. 
> 
> And I definitely think this is the perfect chapter to share [ the fabulous fanart](http://mosomacilany.deviantart.com/art/Neria-Surana-and-Loghain-590366296) that [Mosomacilany](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mosomacilany/pseuds/mosomacilany) made for me. Also, check out her works, they're marvelous!

# OUR SWAN SONG

**_Dragon 31, Denerim Royal Palace_ **  
**_The eve of the final battle_ **

_Deep in our hearts you will live again_

_You're gone to the home of the brave_

Ferelden paid homage to its dead in the Royal's Palace courtyard.

The King, the Wardens and Grand Cleric Elemena had holed themselves up in one of the Palace's chambers for almost an hour. Servants passing near the door while carrying out their duties had accidentally heard muffled, but nonetheless vexed, voices. From time to time, King Alistair could be heard placating for decency. A couple of times a mourning widow, or a fatherless son, had been allowed inside.

In the end, preparations for the funeral pyre had finally begun. Everyone, from the King to the humblest soldier, helped to chop the wood. And finally, at sunset, the commoners were allowed inside the courtyard. Not every corpse was laid on wood—the Alienage elves and dwarves were placed on simple stretchers. 

King Alistair and Grand Cleric Elemena stood before the bodies. Warden Surana, her magic staff held tight in her hands, and Loghain Mac Tir stood before Riordan’s pyre. Oghren, Sten and Zevran stood with them, while Leliana and Ser Gilmore remained by the Grand Cleric’s side. 

Only Alistair carried a torch. The moment he took a step forward, the whispering of the crowd hushed. He offered no dramatic steps, no theatrical gesture. He simply began talking.

“Some of them knew what _war_ meant. Some were too young to fully realize it. However, no one thought it would be easy,” Alistair started. His gaze embraced the crowd. “We were never promised an easy skirmish. The Wardens warned Ferelden from the start, and whoever joined knew what we were fighting for. It's thanks to our fallen that we managed to reach Denerim, that the city remains in our hands and that we're ready to fight—not only for our capital, but for all of Thedas.” 

King Alistair set the first pyre on fire. Aided by the incendiary oil, the flames immediately grew high. Proud and tall, Grand Cleric Elemena raised her hand towards the pyres performing the proper gesture of blessing. Leliana and Ser Gilmore fell to their knees, their lips moving in a silent prayer.

The King stopped by the Grey Warden's pyre and stood alongside, Wardens Surana and Mac Tir. Many soldiers were familiar with Riordan and had fought by his side, and even the ones who didn't, recognized the ancient heraldry of the Wardens on his armor. The King handed Neria and Loghain the torch. Without a word, the two surviving Wardens joined their hands in holding it, then set Riordan's pyre on fire. 

The King spoke, his face painted with grief, “May the Maker watch over them, even in death.”

One by one, Alistair, Leliana, and Ser Girlmore set the other pyres aflame, but Warden Surana threw her torch to the ground, snuffing it out The elven mage slowly walked in front of the crowd, until she reached the non-cremated bodies. Loghain, Zevran, Oghren and Sten followed her. There was a a harsh glint in her amber eyes as she surveyed the throng. Her facial features softened the moment she looked at the bodies, then she spoke. Her voice was far softer than anyone would have expected. 

“We're fighting for the whole Thedas. These are King Alistair's words, words that I make mine. That means that we fight not only for the Andrastian, but also for every Dalish, every dwarf, every Alienage elf who has never forsaken the Evanuris, and every Qunari.” The glance she threw at the Grand Cleric was definitely defiant. 

Neria nodded at Oghren. The dwarf, his red hair enlightened by fire, cleared his throat. He may have been known as a drunk, but at this moment, he looked deadly serious. 

“May they safely return to the Stone,” he declared. 

The tall, muscular Qunari’s speech was brief and expressionless. “Existence is a choice. That's the word of the Qun.”

Finally, it was Zevran's turn. The elf, holding a pair of leather gloves, knelt near the elven corpses. Their faces were painted with vallaslin designs. 

Finally, it was Zevran's turn. The elf, holding into his hands a pair of leather gloves, knelt near the elves' corpses. On their faces, tattoos the most similar as possible to the vallaslin had been painted.  
“May Falon'Din, Friend of the Dead, the Guide, conduct them to the Beyond,” Zevran recited with his thick Antivan accent. 

Warden Surana, ignoring the whispering and the surprised looks of the people, spoke again.  
“As long as you keep them in your hearts, they will keep on living. And now, according to the Stone, the dwarves' bodies should be entombed. According to Evanuris’ precepts, we should bury the elves and plant a tree upon each of them.” She paused for a second. “Since we can't do right by the dwarves the Royal Garden will have to do. As for the elves, we will plant their trees once the Archdemon and his minions have fallen.”

The mere mention of the Archdemon made both soldiers and civilians turn towards the sky in search of its menacing shadow. 

“I am afraid too. Just like you,” Warden Surana assured. Everyone stared at her in utter amazement.

“I am. How can anyone not fear the enemy we're about to face? Nevertheless, this fear won't stop me, or my companions, from doing what has to be done. We will fight to the death, if necessary. I promise you, we will avenge our dead.” Her face hardened like pure steel. “The fight is near. It might be tomorrow, it might be in two days. Whenever it will be, I will be ready. And I expect you all to be as well.”

Without another word, Warden Surana turned and headed back into the royal palace. Behind her, she left a mournful silence and the steely determination on the soldiers’ faces.

**_§§_ **

_You were a kindness when I was a stranger_

_Why would you shatter somebody like me?_

_Wanting not to want you won't make it so_

Neria was staring out her room’s window. Several floors beneath, the families of the fallen and several comrades were transporting the corpses to the Royal Gardens. Death had arrived, and she could almost hear its whispering. She had meant to slip right into bed and wait for Loghain, but she only had managed to let her hair loose and slacken belt on her robes'. The moment she had caught a glimpse of the funeral’s final stages, she felt Death’s call again. She looked out the window, her palms pressed against the glass, mesmerized by the slow march that would lead the corpses to their final rest. She felt nearer to the dead than to the living. With all her soul, she wished to embrace the redemption only death could provide, but her heart and her body craved for something else entirely.

Loghain pushed open the door to Neria’s chambers, and saw her standing at the window, and paused. There were many occasions when he had hesitated. Twenty years ago, it had taken him years to confess his feelings to Rowan. But now, there was no time left to hesitate. She must have heard the door open—she didn’t flinch. Her hair was a cascade of red, her curves soft under the loosened robe. He drank in the sight, trying his best to imprint it into his memory. Tomorrow, she would be wrapped up in her armor. This could be the last time he had the chance to see her like that. He closed the distance, pulling her into a hug, his arms around her waist. He breathed in the perfume of her skin and of her hair. To him, it didn’t matter if it was the smell of someone who had traveled for five days instead of orchid and fern.

Even her soul sang the moment his arms enclosed around her. Her back leaned against his chest, her head rested on his neck, his breath on her skin, the warmth of his body against hers—that was how it should have been. For the millionth time, she cursed herself for having rejected Morrigan's offer. A part of her, one she didn't know existed before, hoped to see the witch again, to tell her she had been wrong, that she was selfish. 

“The Grand Cleric was so mad that her face looked like an owl, did you notice?” Loghain whispered right into her ear. It was true that the woman did not appreciate the speech about other gods. 

Neria’s eyes widened. She couldn't believe her own ears. Loghain didn’t joke often, and this certainly wasn’t a time fit for jokes. Nevertheless, she wasn't able to drive away the image of the Grand Cleric with an owl's head. The idea was so absurd that, despite her dark thoughts, she couldn't help but laugh. It was a short, clear laugh, enough to shake her body and arch her back. That laugh made the illusion of a future together so strong, so concrete, that for a few moments she forgot about everything else. “You came back. You came back for real.” The words escaped her mouth before she could control herself.

Loghain accompanied her outburst with a simple, silent smile. He basked in her touch and that sound, knowing it was last time he’d hear it, that there was no chance to feel her shaking from a laugh again. He tenderly brushed his hand against her stomach, rolling one of her red locks around his finger. He let her enjoy the moment. Yet her words had left him speechless. To crush that delightful sentiment was the greatest crime he could ever commit, but he had to. It made no sense to ignore reality, as painful as it was.

“I had to hear your laugh before saying goodbye,” he finally murmured. When he felt her crumble and whimper in his arms, he hated himself for being the cause of her pain.

His words shattered the whole illusion in a million pieces. Reality crashed through the door. Neria was aware that there was no more time. . Unable to control herself, she sobbed and her knees went weak. She pushed back her tears before they could reach her eyes. Gulping, she rallied all her forces to react in some other way.

“You're back. But it's over anyway. So much for selfish dreams,” she bitterly stated. “Is there anything else to say?” She tried to seek refuge in harshness, her longtime friend. It didn’t work. 

Obviously, she was right. There was nothing they could do to change the future. Loghain kept holding her close and remained silent, afraid to hurt her more than the mere facts. Maybe she didn't need to know how he felt. Maybe she didn't need another inch of suffering, or the thought of the sacrifice they were about to make for Ferelden. Still, he couldn't bear to live without letting her know. A dying man is always granted a last wish, and his was to know whether the woman in his arms reciprocated his feelings or not. It was now or never.

“There is something else to say.” Loghain declared. He gently held her waist, and turned her toward him. He found himself face to face with her amber eyes, the same ones that had looked right into his soul from the very start. His calloused fingers ran over her hips, until they cupped her face. He relished her soft skin under his fingers. Their eyes met, and he pulled her closer. Then, it all came flooding out. 

“Mages are not to be trusted. That's what I've been convinced of my whole life. Then Katriel, the elf Maric was infatuated with, turned out to be a spy, and I decided that elves, too, deserved no trust. The Wardens almost turned Thedas into a blighted land. But... you, Neria...” He softly kissed her forehead, “You are a mage, an elf and a Warden, yet you are nothing like the sly mages I’ve met. You are not a liar. You are willing to die in order to save the country. I felt it in my guts from the start, and I wish I had listened to my instincts. You are so much more than I had expected, and I couldn't help but feel jealous of the Antivan. In the end, you subverted the world as I had come to know it. My world.” He bent down, kissing her softly.

Neria was about to hush him, and tell him there was nothing else that she needed to hear, but instead she found herself mesmerized by his touch and the fondness in his voice. She listened, wide-eyed and incredulous. It seemed an impossibility that the person she cared for more than anyone in the world shared these feelings. But his eyes were so full of fondness and passion that there was no space left for a lie. Obeying her body, when he brushed her lips against hers she threw her arms around his neck, capturing his mouth and giving in to her hunger. She erased every other thought.

Loghain was completely taken by surprise when she went for his lips with such hunger, as if she were about to to devour him. A moment before there was a woman almost in shock, and now that same woman didn't even care about breathing. When the kiss broke, he laid his forehead upon hers. The craving he read into her eyes filled him with a warmth and desire that he had never experienced before. He entangled her hands with his, raising them to his lips and kissed her knuckles gently. 

“You saved me, Neria Surana. I was living in the past and letting my hatred for Orlais eat away at me as well as my memories of Rowan, the woman I had to renounce to for the sake of my country. You taught me how much life I was renouncing.” Loghain caressed her hair, passing his fingers through her fiery locks. 

“You brought me back to life, Loghain,” Neria confessed in a whisper. This time, she didn't hesitate, she didn't run. She looked right at him, holding him in her heart, and it all flowed out. “When I met you, my world was crumbling. I had lost my purpose, and I couldn't find another. You're the only one who came to understand how I’m feeling now and what I’ve been through in the past. You never asked me to be any more than just me. I was secluded in my guilt and my hunger for power, but you came and showed me how to crawl out of it. I thought it was impossible for anyone to get under my skin... but you proved me wrong. Because of you, now I hunger for life.”

Loghain simply listened. He wanted to remember her breath on his skin and her whispered confession. All of it had been worth it, even if the idea of leaving her alone tore him apart. Suddenly, he pulled her into a tight hug. Another flow of warmth ran through him when she enclosed his arms around him. “I've always been ready to sacrifice everything, for the greater good. Now I wish there was some way out, some loophole, where I don't have to be without you and we both can see tomorrows’ sunset. I wish there was some way that I don't have to renounce you.” 

When she burst into tears and fell to her knees. he knelt beside her, and held her close. He wasn't going to leave her alone until he had to.

The enormity of her mistake hit Neria right in her heart. Recalling how she had refused Morrigan’s offer and renounced their only chance, she couldn't stop the tears. Sobbing, she gripped his vest. The thought of hurting him that much was simply insufferable. “Please... please, forgive me, I'm so sorry,” she finally managed to muffle between one sob and another. When she felt his tears on her neck, she hated herself. 

At first, Loghain thought he had misheard her. But when she apologized over and over again, he caressed her cheek, looking into her reddened eyes. “There's nothing to be sorry about,” he softly said. “For once, I will do something for someone, not for my country. There's no better reason I could die for.” 

“No! You don't understand!” Neria cried. Her voice broke. “I.. never told you.” Sincerity. It was what she had always given him, and she intended to do the same thing now, even if that meant facing his hate or crushing his heart. Loghain was silent, waiting for her to talk. She gulped once. “Morrigan came to me the night you were wounded in Redcliffe. She... she told me she had a way out, a way to prevent both of us from dying.” 

He was staring at her, eyes wide, mouth half-opened. 

She stuttered. “S-she said that if you slept with her, t-the child conceived would have hosted the t-taint without becoming a darkspawn or an Archdemon.” She saw the betrayal within his eyes and broke their embrace, preparing to be pushed away.

What Neria was telling him was unbelievable, even in his wildest dreams. It sounded like a crazy lie, but the pain and the remorse in her voice were real and unmistakably true. The witch's deal would have been almost unacceptable, not to mention the conception of a child as well as the risks and the specifics maybe Neria wasn’t aware of. But had she told him, he would have done it. For her. Sadly, it didn't matter anymore. Her silence tasted of betrayal. He would have deserved to have a say. 

“Why?” he inquired, his voice low. 

So, a broken heart it was. It was clearly written in eyes, and in his broken embrace. Now, all she had to do was to go through with it, and spit it all out.

“I was so sure you would have rejected me once you learned the truth about me, the kind of woman I really am. So I decided that instead of taking an uncertain and convenient shortcut, I sought my redemption in saving Thedas. I couldn’t stand to meddle with a blood magic ritual once again, nor I was ready to bargain the assurance of the Blight's end for my chance at a life of redemption,” she explained. “I preferred to die instead of living with my guilt and my shame.” She felt naked. There were no more secrets. Just like she had done when she had confessed him her sins, she waited for him to leave. Feeling his arms around her, she winced.

Loghain listened to her whole speech. He knew she had confessed the truth. He was heartbroken, but not angry as he would have expected. On the contrary, an immense tenderness filled him. And as he held her in an embrace, he wondered how could someone so amazing, could despise herself enough to seek death.  
“I swore I would never try to change who you are,” he whispered into her ear. And without hesitating, he added, “I wish you loved yourself as much as I do, Neria.”

Still, like a doll in his arms, Neria fought to push back the tears, and did her best to banish fear and desperation from her voice. She clung to him as if he was life itself. “I love you more than I love myself. Is that a sin?” she asked, pressing her finger to his lips and preventing him from offering an answer. “Help me taste life one last time, my love. I want to make the most of this last piece of freedom. Just...” she took his hands, guiding them down her robe, upon the skin of her thighs “...let me make our farewell memorable.” 

Despite the damnation she had brought upon them both, Loghain couldn't condemn her. He didn't know anything about the Beyond, he had no idea whether dead retained their memories or if they were merely lost in the void. All he was sure of, was that he didn't want to taint his last hours with the woman he loved with anger and resentment—the woman who loved him back. The moment their skin met, he left all the rest behind.


	13. And day won't come again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's no way out: only the hunt has remained. And Neria is determined to make Loghain survive.
> 
> However, the most unexpteced of alliances builds up, to save her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter before the beginning of the final battle. Which means that the story is heading to its conclusion, and from now on the war against the Darkspawn will be the main focus.
> 
> I still have a couple of chapters to publish, so it's not over yet! :)

# AND DAY WON'T COME AGAIN

**_Dragon 31, Denerim Royal Palace_ **   
**_The last morning_ **

_It's not fair to lose it,_

_And how... there was a time now_

_But Death is cheating us somehow_

_...And it's already here._

Though it was still dark outside, several sounds filled the air. It was the echo of steps, clatter of armour, occasional voices.

It had begun. 

Her bed was the last safe, sheltered place Neria would enjoy. No one could know exactly when the Archdemon would attack, but to her, it didn't matter. Once she slipped away from those warm sheets and distance herself from Loghain's strong arms, she would be no one but Warden Surana, General of Ferelden's army. The longer she lingered by his side, the more she felt her resolve weaken. She couldn't risk crumbling when she needed her determination the most.

Neria had waited for Loghain’s breath to deepen and regulate in the way the human breath does when one is asleep. She had to ensure that he was asleep, and to make sure of that she had mixed a pinch of sleeping herbs to his goodnight drink. She had told herself that he needed all the rest he could get—a truth, but only a partial one. 

Deep inside, she knew that looking into his eyes again, reading his love for her into them, would prevent her from acting like Warden Surana was supposed to. Her own love for him, the only reason why she had to sacrifice herself, would make it impossible for her to run to her death. She was a woman in love and for that same reason she had to be the sacrificial lamb. Not him. If that was her punishment for desecrating the Ashes, so be it.

She stared at Loghain’s face in a last attempt to memorize every single detail of his chiseled features and his tough jaw. She recalled how his expression softened when he smiled at her. Her fingertips nearly touched his cheek, almost caressing him. 

Then, everything was over. 

Neria moved his arm that encircling her waist, careful to not wake him up. Kneeling on the floor, still in the dark, she searched the robe gifted to her by Morrigan, its humming magic guiding her. She put it on, smoothing every inch of its fabric and clasping it behind her neck. Finally, she clipped her hair into a rough ponytail. 

The daylight insinuated itself through the curtains—it was still weak, almost invisible, but the sun had started peeking from behind the horizon. Neria smiled bitterly.. The Maker certainly loved irony. The morning before their departure from Redcliffe, the fog had promised death and torture. Today, as sick and weakened it appeared, the sun had shown up to bless the new day. Grabbing her graceful and elaborated staff, she stood in the doorway and caressed the body beneath the sheets with her eyes one last time. Leaving the room for good required all her strength.

Warden Surana headed for the battlements, conscious of how every single soldier watched her. Just months ago, she thought bitterly, they would have turned their heads to admire her figure and smell the orchid and fern on her. Now, all she smelled of was hope for a desperate Ferelden. She stopped before the first bend, her eyes on the horizon, to cherish the last dawn of her life, gradually becoming conscious of a presence beside her. 

When the sun emerged from the horizon, Neria turned to face the Lady of the Forest. At first, the spirit of the Brecilian Forest remained quiet, as if she was intent on listening to the world itself. 

“While the Archdemon was flying above us all, the forest heard it,” she finally began “The forest felt its hunger. It craves for you both, for you and for Warden Loghain. It will seek for you.” 

“Then I should prepare a proper welcome. I have no intention of disappointing the Archdemon,” Neria replied sarcastically, moving away from the battlements. 

While walking at her side the Lady quietly explained, , “It's quite a big prey for you alone, Warden. I know, because the werewolves are used to hunting in packs and are careful in choosing their target.” She paused. “We have learnt to ambush our prey. Only then, will few of us attack, the others will wait for the right moment to bite into its flesh. That's why we're the best hunters in the whole Thedas.” Turning towards Neria, she offered, “Compose your pack, and I'll gladly teach you to think like a wolf, if you wish.”

Neria nodded. “Let’s go hunting, then.”

* * *

Alone.

Upon opening his eyes, this was the first thing Loghain noticed. The realization made him vigil enough to see that the sun was already up in the sky, and that no sounds of battle could be heard outside. 

He ran his hand on the mattress: it was still warm, meaning that she had only recently left. Part of him had expected this of her yet he couldn't help but feel swindled. It didn’t matter—he was willing to let her trick him so long as she survived the day. He already he had come to terms with what awaited him. He sighed, allowing the nostalgia from the past night to wash over him, before getting ready for the day before him. The darkspawn horde hadn't attacked yet; even so, he had a whole day of training ahead of him, and possibly some serious tactical planning ahead of him.

Loghain spotted her the moment he was handed his daily ration. She was with the Lady of the Forest, the assassin, the bard and the qunari. Despite the grim situation they all were in, he found himself admiring her new robe, so beautifully crafted that it looked more like an elegant dress than a battle robe. The group disappeared behind two double doors. Where was she—

“Warden?” someone called him. 

He turned. The voice belonged to one of the soldiers who had traveled with them from Redcliffe.

“Warden Surana commands you to secure of the city and to keep training the troops.” 

Loghain looked at the doors where she had disappeared. She couldn't possibly have neglected to plan a strategy. The soldier was still standing beside him, waiting for his reply. 

“I understand,” he finally managed to answer. Those words were enough to dismiss him.

**_§§_ **

An hour later, Loghain had placed sentinels and archers upon the towers and the battlements, assigned a mix of templars, werewolves, humans and dwarves to watch at the gates, readied the siege machines in case the Archdemon attached from the sea, ordered Greagoir to train his templars and started reviewing of the various types of military formations.

Only his deep-rooted discipline had allowed him to keep focused on his duties. However, discipline wasn’t enough to prevent him from asking himself what was happening—why she had summoned the others instead of him, what they were planning, why they had met behind closed doors. Worse, he missed her more each minute, especially knowing he was living on borrowed time.. 

By midday, Loghain lost his patience. He excused himself, ordered Greagoir to take over and left the training grounds. He had to find her. Not even caring about knocking first, he opened wide the doors he had seen her enter with the Lady of the Forest and their other companions. It was empty, they were gone. She couldn't have gone far—she was committed to her duty, and today more than ever, commanders and leaders would be asking for her counsel and assistance. The King, the Arl and Teagan were not around either, and he guessed she might be with them right now. All in all, she couldn’t really avoid him for much longer.

When he returned to the training grounds, the sight of a lean, elven figure caught his attention. It was the assassin, probably heading to there as well. Loghain sped up, making his way through he crowd, shoving several shoulder aside until he managed to grab Zevran's arm. The Antivan turned around. His expression clearly talked of annoyance and disgust. 

“Follow me. Now,” Loghain commanded. 

Once again, the elf's facial expression was quite self-evident. There was no way he’d refuse the command of a Warden, but he would have, had he the opportunity. 

“Make it quick, Warden,” Zevran replied, after a lengthy pause. “I need to train for battle.”

Without a word, Loghain entered the royal palace, occasionally turning to make sure the elf was still following. He didn't enjoy Zevran's company any more than the elf enjoyed his, but he had to know whatever was going on, and was certain the elf could offer him the answer. 

Once he reached an empty room, used mostly for storage, he walked inside. When Zevran entered as well, he closed it. 

“What's the deal with that meeting, elf?” Loghain asked. His tone was the icy one of the general, of the man who had guided Ferelden against Orlais. He wouldn't accept a refusal or even a partial answer.

In response, Zevran stood straight and proud. Apparently, the Crow wasn't afraid of the Hero of River Dane. “What's wrong, Loghain? Are you hurt because for once she didn't call for you?” There was a, a smirk on his lips.

Incensed, Loghain stepped forward, grabbed his leather armor and threw him against the wall, keeping him pinched there. Even then, the Crow didn't flinch. Staring into his eyes, Loghain saw the cold stare he had witnessed when he had hired the Antivan Crows to murder the Wardens. And yet, deep inside beyond the insensitive look of the assassin, there was something more. Hate. The elf hated him with every fiber of his being.

“I am. Are you happy now?” Loghain growled. “Now start talking.” 

His request was met with silence and another satisfied smirk. The bastard knew he was holding the whip hand. He was definitely gloating. 

But there was no time for games. The urgency, the rage and his wounded pride guided his fist. He punched the elf right into his stomach.

Zevran groaned. The violence of that punch had left him breathless, but being pinched against the wall had prevented him from falling to his knees. When he caught his breath, he lifted his head—he was in pain, but there his look remained defiant. 

“I wouldn't advise keeping this up,” he stated. A glimpse of triumph raced into his eyes. “You know, this time, _I_ have been chosen to protect her. And you want her safe, don't you?”

The revelation hit Loghain right in the stomach. He let go of the assassin, and stepped away from him. Maker, he had been such a fool. Her guilt-stricken confession the first time they spent the night together, her reasons for rejecting Morrigan's offer, her sweet voice telling him how he was so much better than her. And, most of all, he recalled the intensity of her feelings.

The Antivan's voice brought him back to the present. “Try not faint. You're as white as a sheet.” 

The former Teyrn looked up, attempting to open his mouth and speak, but it was tono avail. When Zevran gave him a puzzled look, Loghain murmured, “She didn't tell you.” It was not a question. As much as Zevran hated him, he also loved Neria with the same intensity. Even more. He wouldn't allow her to walk to her own death.

“Tell me what?” inquired the Antivan. Every trace of amusement and satisfaction had vanished from his voice. Now, he was anguished and possibly more impatient than Loghain had been at the beginning of that confrontation. 

“If she kills Archdemon , she will die. She and I are the only ones who can strike the final blow and kill the beast's soul, and end the Blight for good. But...” he gulped, watching Zevran's terrified expression, “that same blow will kill the Warden as well.”

Zevran didn't explode in a raging outburst—he remained silent for several seconds. In the end, his was the voice of an embittered, disillusioned man. “She tricked us all then. She tricked me in keeping _you_ alive, because her plan doesn't involve you anywhere near the Archdemon,” His eyes filled with burning hate and he almost went for his dagger. “It's all your damned fault.”

The truth within the Antivan's words made Loghain feel ashamed. He was the one to blame. 

“She won't back off. You and I both know how stubborn she is, so there is really no use in changing her mind. And that's why,” he lifted his eyes “we need to work together to save her.”


	14. Blood red sunset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bells sang.  
> The Fereldan army is off to the battle.
> 
> And the Warden's fate grows nearer and nearer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _A warm welcome to my new subscribers!_** And now, on to the chapter :)

# BLOOD RED SUNSET

**_Dragon 31, Denerim City Gates_ **  
**_The Last Sunset_ **

_It's the moment of truth, and the moment to lie,_

_The moment to live and the moment to die,_

_The moment to fight, the moment to fight,_

_To fight, to fight, to fight!_

By mid-afternoon, Denerim had been fortified. The gates had been strengthened with heavy trunks and the ramparts had been furnished with cauldrons of boiling oil, arrow reserves and shields where the archers could seek protection against ranged attacks. The road leading to the gates was now barricaded, and upon the battlements stood the catapults, ready to fire against the horde before it could even near Denerim. To further prevent the occurrence, the soldiers booby trapped the fields approaching the city’s main road. As much as the capital of Ferelden could be ready, she was. According to the plan, only a small part of the army would remain inside the city. The majority of soldiers would exit the gates to face the horde, in a further attempt to prevent the darkspawn from getting inside and harming the citizens.

Hour after hour, the army waited for the attack. Even the ones who had experienced the worst nightmares and feared the most for their loved ones’ lives had grown tired of the standstill—having to cope with that wearying impasse was much worse than the battle itself. 

Sten woke up way before dawn. Existence was a choice, and he wanted to come out of that battle alive and tell the Arishok what the Blight was. Leliana calmly got ready for what expected her, for her role in bringing down the Archdemon. She remember her vision, the Maker was by her side. She wouldn’t fail. Unable to sleep, Zevran stared at the night as it turned into day. He tried to calm down his internal turmoil. He wished he could make of the coldness the Crows were taught. 

Sunset came, torches were lit, the sky turned blood red and everyone wondered whose blood had been spilled.

And when the last of the red, bloodied disk disappeared behind the horizon, bells sang. It had begun.

**_§§_ **

A company of archers was the first to leave the city. The men crossed the gates even before the horde was visible from the ground, before Denerim could feel the earth trembling beneath thousand of beastly feet. Those first archers stationed hidden inside the last snatches of the woods A company of archers left the city first. The men passed through the gates even before the horde was visible from the ground, before Denerim could feel the earth trembling beneath the thousand beastly feet. They were stationed inside the last snatches of the woods before the bend in the road, beside where the traps had been placed. Neria, Sten, Leliana, Zevran, and Teagan stood on the ramparts, along with the remaining ranged fighters, and the King himself. Once the horde was in range, the catapults were to be launched and the archers were to shoot. Still inside the gates, the cavalry and the werewolves were waiting for the signal, ready to ride in battle once the catapults were fired. As soon as the the cavalry exited the gates, the ramparts' archers were be ordered to shoot, making use of a parabolic range that avoided friendly fire.

Neria tried to calm down the savage beating of her heart. She looked down. Oghren stood near King Bhelen; when he saw her, he smiled. They had talked already: he had thanked her for having made him more than a hopeless drunk, and she had openly confessed that she had come to admire him and cherish his friendship. The dwarf wasn't aware of how an Archdemon died, but he knew that war comrades rarely meet again after battle. . Loghain, Eamon, and Teagan were at the head of the cavalry unit. Neria’s heart wrenched instead of racing. She knew it was the last time she would see him. Once the battle started, she would run to Fort Drakon with Leliana, Zevran, Sten and a small contingent of men and werewolves—there was no escaping, the trap had to be set in motion. Neria hadn't told Loghain about her plan. The only one made aware of her intentions, apart from her team, was Alistair. The King disapproved her plan and exhorted her to reconsider. Neria refused to listen. Her only goal was to keep Loghain safe. The last look Alistair gave to her lacked any forgiveness. As much as he loathed her, Alistair despised Loghain more and the thought of her making this sacrificing instead of him was unforgivable. 

The earth trembled. When Neria met Loghain’s gaze, she silently bid him farewell.

**_§§_ **

Loghain stood in front of the city gates. They were closed, but would be opened wide soon enough. The moment the bells had rung, he guided his men to the stables, urging them to t ready for battle. The dwarves mounted brontos, the Templars and the Arl's men horses. Once saddled, they stood in front of the city gates, waiting for the signal to charge . Loghain had fought enough battles to know that there wasn't much time left. He looked up at the ramparts, and the Antivan gave him a quick nod.

The earth trembled. When Loghain met Neria’s gaze, he silently reaffirmed his promise. She would live.

The first catapult fired.

**_§§_ **

The gates opened, and Denerim set its cavalry free. Up Loghain’s head, whistling arrows flew in the sky. That whistling sound mixed up with the furious gallop and the howling of darkspawn hit by the flaming catapult bullets or fallen into some of the underground traps.

When the gates opened Denerim set its cavalry free. Whistling arrows flew over Loghain’s head, mixing with a furious gallop and the howling of darkspawn hit by the catapult’s flaming projectiles or caught by the booby traps. 

Neria looked at the army she had put together as it ran right into the arms of the horde. Now she knew why the Archdemon had kept them waiting: several blighted animals and human ghouls had been called to fight for their master. Another round of flaming projectiles soared into the sky. One impaled the chest of an ogre running against the Fereldan army. Neria raised her hands to the sky calling for burning flames, turning the catapult’s ammunition into powerful inferno.

“One more round, then we will cease fire. The armies will meet in a matter of minutes,” announced Sten.

“The same for the archers,” stated Alistair. 

The King turned to give her a long look, Neria ignored the blame raging in his eyes. She was beyond caring about what Alistair thought. Instead, she focused on her power to command a deadly chain of lighting. 

The two armies clashed.

**_§§_ **

The shrieking and howling of the horde filled Loghain’s ears. He spurred the horse and wielded his blade towards the sky. Before long, enemies and allies alike surrounded him. The orders were clear: no ogre was to reach the gates, nor darkspawn carrying a battering ram. From up the ramparts, magic spells occasionally destroyed an enemy or wounded another. The werewolves and a group of dwarves took care of the ogres, biting at their monstrous feet to prevent them from acting as living battering rams. Loghain ran over an already wounded gunlock and decapitated a hurlock immediately after. Around him, the air smelled of blood and of a comrade’s burnt skin, who had fallen under an emissary's spell. Cries and shouts, both humans and darkspawn, pierced the air. An ogre kicked a werewolf to death As the wolfish creature died under his eyes, it whined pitifully one last time An entire squad of Eamon’s soldiers were launched into the air, meeting their end when a section of Templars trampled them as they raced toward enemy. However, darkspawn were suffering losses too—the Templars were effectively dealing with the emissaries.

Enemies continued to invade and even worse, Loghain slowly realized that the Ferelden army was losing ground, bit by bit. It was as if the darkspawn were pushing the Fereldan army towards the gates. Even worse, their energies waned while the darkspawn’s seemed to be bolstered by each attack. An electric crackling finished off a shriek about to jump and attack him—Neria hadn't left for Fort Drakon yet. Nevertheless, as helpful as magic was, something else was giving the enemy a considerable advantage. . If they wanted to keep those gates intact, they had to stop whatever it was. 

Finally, Loghain located the source of the problem. An alpha and an emissary guided a column of the enemy, by, into the left flank of the army. The emissary's spell were devastating, and the Templars were unable to seize the darkspawn mage. As for the hurlock alpha, it’s brute strength out-maneuvered the majority of soldiers. Some were able to avoid its deadly powerful swings of its greatsword, but none were powerful enough to stop it.

“Greagoir! Over there!” Loghain shouted, pointing at the emissary and leading his horse to a gallop in an effort to stop the deadly generals. 

However, a mighty ogre was guarding the generals , but the army had the beast surrounded , preventing it from being any help to them. As Greagoir approached the advancing column from the right, Loghain turned to the left. 

Out of the blue, the ogre cried out in pain as a blade pierced its hock. As the monstrosity, defeated by unrelenting gashes and blood loss, lost its balance and fell on the ground, the men who had been attacking from behind had to move away to avoid being crushed. Several soldiers ran to the ogre's side, slowing down Loghain's horse and Greagoir's men. Those too slow to react found themselves trapped under the ogre's corpse the moment it fell. 

Loghain watched in horror as the two darkspawn generals, totally unresponsive towards a brother's death, exploited the ogre's fall. The emissary and the hurlock alpha marchedatop the ogre's corpse, before Ferelden's soldiers could stop them. A second ogre also jumped on the giant corpse, shaking the ground and preventing the nearby soldiers from attacking.

Now that the road leading to Denerim’s entrance was free, the ogre made a run to the gates, hitting them with all its force; the archers on the ramparts began shooting the moment the gigantic darkspawn came in range, while other soldiers standing on the battlements threw the boiling oil upon some of the monsters ready to enter.

The night suddenly felt colder, more menacing. The large shadow of the Archdemon loomed over the ramparts. Ignoring the arrows shot against him, the beast thrust open its jaws and unleashed its purple flame upon a small group of soldiers, effectively grilling them alive. Loghain sighed in relief when he spotted Neria conjuring a blue shield around her and withdrew, avoiding the deadly flame. Next, was the sinister sounds of the gates finally cracking. Thanks to its master, the ogre was free to pounce on the gates.

That last blow opened a breach wide enough to let the deadly darkspawn's column through.

**_§§_ **

Here it was. Neria had been waiting for the Archdemon to show up, and here it was in the sky. Her stomach clutched, a sprinkle of terror ran through her body. The dragon shot her a malevolent, enraged look, as if it had sensed her fear. Neria withdrew. This wasn’t the time or place for that fight. Oddly enough, the beast turned away from her, as if it agreed with her on that stance. A moment later, the men to her right were burned alive. Instinctively, she surrounded herself with an anti-magic shield. The Archdemon fled, while his two generals and his minions crossed the damaged gates of Denerim.

She meant to keep the population safe. Now, it was at risk of being slaughtered. 

Before she could give an order, the Ferelden army outside the gates united, creating a formation strong and tight enough to block the passage of any approaching darkspawn. The ramparts' archers were already shooting at the darkspawn squads entering the city. Of course, that possibility had been taken into consideration during the last war council, and it had been decided that the one defending the gates had to be Ferelden's King, together with King Bhelen as his second in command. Alistair briefly glared at her before climbing down the battlements. He opened his mouth, but remained silent. He knewthat there was nothing left to say. She took a brief moment to examine Alistair as he joined Bhelen and encouraged everyone to fight for Ferelden. He wasn't the whiny royal bastard anymore: he would be a strong King. 

And now, everyone on the battlements looked at her, awaiting her orders. It was now or never. There was no more time. The whole city was in danger. Taking a deep breath, Neria spoke. 

“Knight Commander Greagoir, take Ser Gilmore, Bann Teagan, one golem and twenty men with you. I want you to crush that bloated Emissary!”. Upon hearing her orders, the Knight-Commander immediately gathered his forces; Teagan curtly wished her good luck before joining Greagoir. 

Loghain was there, staring at her.She could read the desperate plea in his eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, but failed miserably. When the image of Loghain lying dead beside the Archdemon's corpse flashed before her eyes, she hesitated no more. 

“Loghain, Oghren, and Arl Eamon will go after the Alpha. You will bring one golem and twenty men with you as well. All of you,” she turned to look at Greagoir and Teagan too, “will rejoin the King at the gates once the city is secure.” 

Once again, her mouth went dry. An ancestral, wrenching fear took hold of her. In her mind she could see her crushed body between the Archdemon's jaws. Trembling, she remembered that whatever her destiny was, was no up for discussion anymore. 

“I will go after the beast myself,” Neria announced, her voice cringing towards the end of the sentence. She abruptly turned, climbing down the battlements and getting into the saddle. Leliana, Zevran, Sten, Witherfang and the remaining golem followed her—they didn’t need further instructions, everything had been clarified. Before she could take a single step, a strong hand clutched her arm. She could recognize that hand no matter the circumstances. She also knew that, had she turned and looked into his eyes, she might lose her resolve. 

“To the Void with that. Don't do this to me, my love. I am not one of your soldiers,” she heard him whisper. His voice was filled with anguish, grief, desperation. The thought of him dead, while she lived, alone in a world she despised, prevented her from giving in.

“You have your orders, Warden,” Neria simply stated. The coldness in her tone surprised even herself. She had never, been so detached 

A pang of guilt stung her. Before it cut any deeper, she spurred her horse, leaving Loghain behind. Fort Drakon was awaiting her.

* * *

**_City of Denerim_ **  
**_Elven Alienage_ **

Loghain, Oghren and the Arl had chased the hurlock general like an animal and followed the beast and its minions into the Elven Alienage. Loghain and his men were unsuccessful in stopping the mighty ogre from dismantling the gates, but they had halved the darkspawn squad instead, before it had a chance to storm Alienage. The squad was large, but except for the alpha, none of the hurlocks or genlocks were particularly skilled or smart. Loghain had galloped amongst them, bringing them down in a vindictive fury. As long as he lived, he was determined to make the darkspawn's stay in the city a living hell. He had no clear memories of his charge, feeding upon his anger and fear. There was anger, after she treated him as a mere soldier, for announcing her order publicly and forcing him to obey. There was fear for her fate, fear that he would not be at her side in time, even with the Antivan’s help. Loghain had struck down every darkspawn in his sight. And that meant one less threat for Neria. In return for the courtesy, though, the alpha hurlock beheaded the city elves who tried to stop him from entering the Alienage and managed to set the Vhenadhal on fire.

The fight was reaching its conclusion. The majority of the alpha's minions had fallen, and had they been men, they would have knelt and begged for mercy. Since they were snarling, defying creatures, whose thirst for blood roared into their veins, they knew no surrender. 

Behind them, the burning Vhenadhal lit the night—Loghain looked at the corpses of the elves who had tried to defend their home, at their destroyed homes, and beheld the massacre the darkspawn had brought upon his country. Mad with rage, oblivious to his own wounds and the blood on his armor, he charged the alpha.


	15. Two beating hearts in a sea of death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's on Fort Drakon's roof, ready to lure the Archdemon into a deadly trap.  
> He's fighting, inch by inch, to reach her in time.
> 
> But time runs, and runs, and runs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New readers, welcome :)
> 
> You jumped on this train right so, so near to the conclusion. I hope you'll enjoy these last chapters.
> 
> And of course, thank you to every single reader and reviewer. I'm looking forward to read your opinion!

# TWO BEATING HEARTS IN A SEA OF DEATH

**_City of Denerim_ **   
**_Fort Drakon's roof_ **

_It's my own design_

_It's my own remorse_

As Neria, Leliana, Zevran, Sten, Witherfang, their golem and their remaining forces reached Fort Drakon came in sight of the Fort's doors, a large group of darkspawn had barred them the way—as if the Archdemon was aware of the trap Neria had designed. She struggled to suppress the thought. If the beast knew, they had no hope to be successful. Maybe, the darkspawn were only sent to eliminate a Warden before reaching their winged Lord.

Upon their heads, high in the sky, they could see the Archdemon in the distance and hear the chilling cries of agony of those who had fallen prey to its deadly blaze or its dangerous claws. In Old God style, it disseminated death and desperation. Neria finally understood. The Wardens’ mission was sacred, striking it down was all that mattered. Otherwise, there would have been no world for Loghain… or anyone. 

Inch by inch, they fought for their lives, one step after another. Wherever they turned, there was a genlock attempting to cut open their throats and a hurlock threatening to expose their guts. A shriek appeared of nowhere, ready to strike them down from behind. The road to the roof was truly a walk through hell, a path paved with blood and destruction. 

When the last darkspawn fell under her Cone of Cold, crashing to the floor in several pieces, Neria was almost out of breath. Inhaling deeply, she waited for the runes inscribed upon her robe to gather her mana, replenishing her supply.

They were all staring at her, waiting for her command. 

“Here's the plan,” Neria began. Sten, Leliana, Witherfang and Zevran needed no reminder, but the soldiers accompanying them weren’t present to that secret meeting. “As long as the Archdemon is free to fly around, we’ll never have a chance. We need to damage its wings, block him sohe can’t escape us.” She pointed at the double doors leading to Fort Drakon’s roof. “There, on the roof. I will enter first, with Leliana and Zevran. While they get ready to use the ballista to pierce the beast’s wings, I’ll play bait. The rest of you will wait behind those doors. Once we complete our tasks, Leliana will open the doors for you. Sten, lead half of company to the roof, while the other half, as well as Witherfang, will take care of any darkspawn that should try pass through to defend the Archdemon. Are we clear?” 

Neria clenched her jaw and stared at them with determination into her eyes. There was a glimpse of fear into the soldiers' gazes. “We will strike it down. We will save Ferelden,” she promised. Secretly, she wondered if the reasons that led her to the roof, to the battle would be enough to overcome the visceral terror she had to face All she could do was hope and fight. 

After Sten moved to the base of the staircase leading to the roof, Neria turned towards the two rogues. Zevran was staring at her in apprehension, while Leliana was stone-faced, even though a flash of anger passed through her eyes when their eyes met. 

“Why are you doing this, Leliana? Why risk your life by my side after what I've done with the Ashes?” Neria quietly asked. 

“We have an Archdemon to slay, Warden. Do we really have time to spare?” the bard retorted, her tone as icy as the Frost Mountain themselves. 

Leliana's coldness had no effect upon Neria. Second after second, she was becoming more of an empty vessel, a tool for destruction. “We may not have another chance,” she replied. 

The bard crossed her arms, clearly annoyed. “Because you've been sly enough to tell me about your desecration at the dawn of what could be your last day on Thedas? If you expected me to abandon the field and run away from the villain that may doom the world as I know it, you have no idea who I am, Warden. You offended the Maker in the worst way, but the Archdemon is the enemy I was sent to confront. Not you. It doesn’t matter how much you disgust me.”

Neria could have told Leliana exactly why she had waited until that last day. In another circumstance, she could have explained how she regretted her actions and how she understood how pointless they had been. 

Instead, the Warden flung the doors open. While both rogues melded into the shadows, she walked onto the roof of Fort Drakon in plain sight. There was plenty of space to engage her enemy—the ballista had been placed, as ordered. The moment the doors closed behind her, her heat skipped a bit. It was the point of no return. She could hear the cries of battle in distance. In the city below, cries of agony mixed with cries of victory. Her troops were struggling to keep the horde outside the city. A column of smoke raised from both the Alienage and the Market, while riders galloped towards the gates. She saw everything but the enemy she had come to defy. 

And then suddenly, there it was. A purple blaze blasted one of the Palace’s massive spires, causing it to collapse. The monstrous figure of the Archdemon towered on the Royal Palace of Denerim, toying it with it with its claws, destroying it for mere pleasure. Neria gazed at the beast that would soon be her own death. It had been her own design, her own plan, and she had to deal with the remorseful whispering inside her. Despite the fact that there had been no other choice, that whispering didn’t stop.

The Archdemon launched into the sky and soaredas if it was searching for something, or someone, on the battlefield that Denerim had become. An indescribable fear filled her mind. She prayed that Loghain was safe. The remorse fell silent. 

Neria grabbed her knife, cutting her palms without flinching. Clenching her fists, she listened to the blood pumping in her veins until her heart rumbled into her ears—only then, she focused on the Archdemon's blood, on the thin veins within its wings. She was going to defy it in a way it couldn't ignore. The mage waited for it to fly closer , then unleashed the magic pumping inside her blood. She linked her own will to the dragon's, in an attempt to control its mind. It wouldn't work, but all she needed was its undivided attention. 

When that wave of power hit the Archdemon from the inside, it roared in indignation and trembled for a moment before turning its massive head towards her. Without a doubt, it recognized her as a petty mortal who had the audacity to try and control the will of an Old God. 

As the beast changed direction and head in her direction, ready to charge, time slowed down. She summoned her mana and surrounded herself with an anti-magic shield, to protect her from its blaze. Zevran was nowhere to be seen, but she was sure he was standing by her side, his daggers covered in poison and unsheathed, ready to strike if needed. Leliana, she knew, was preparing to shoot the moment the dragon was near enough for her arrows to pierce at least one of its wings. 

Neria continued to draw the Archdemon to her, studied its gaping As it approached, she was able to stare into its eyes. A wave of panic made her tremble—she clutched her staff tight. The moment she saw the first purple flicker inside its mouth, she swerved to the right. The deadly blaze hit the wall behind her, and the dragon remained still for a couple of seconds as the fire burned out. Neria quickly withdrew towards the chosen ballista. Zevran appeared behind the dragon and sank its daggers sank into the membrane between its wings, quickly retreating and fading into the shadows again before the beast’s paw could harm him. Now that the Archdemon knew it was being attacked from two sides, it began turning around furiously, searching for the pest who had dared to defy him. Neria rotated her staff, directing a burst of magic energy at the dragon's flank.

“Over here!” the Warden called. 

The Archdemon chased its archenemy, its fury of its attack fueled by the hatred of every defeated Archdemon. Unable to turn around, Neria realized in horror that she had forgotten to count the required number of steps she needed to lure the dragon into the ballista’s range. All she could do was to keep withdrawing, step by step. The Archdemon, mad with rage, kept following. To keep enough distance between her and the dragon, Neria an backwards. Once, the dragon stuck its head towards her, its jaws opening and closing as if it was foretasting its treat—the stench of blood and putrescence made her retch so hard that she stumbled. 

To her horror, she fell on her back. 

The Archdemon inched closer and closer, licking its lips with its tongue. As she frantically tried to stand up, her breath quickened by a primordial terror, Zevran appeared out of nowhere, thrusting his blades deep into the beast's flank. The dragon shrieked in surprise, but this time, it spotted Zevran. With a powerful kick, he threw Zevran several feets away. 

“Zev!” she called out in anguish. The assassin fell to the ground, motionless. 

Her own near-death experience made her remember, though. She needed to get to the catapult ramp. Neria ran without looking back: one, two, three, ten steps. 

And the moment the Archdemon flew up to charge her with all its dragon might, ready to smash her with its fangs, the ballista’s giant dart pierced its right wing. Wounded and taken by surprise, the Archdemon fell to the ground, growling in pain. 

“Now, Sten!” Neria cried. 

**_City of Denerim_**  
 ** _Elven Alienage_**

The blade pierced the alpha hurlock's armor, causing the darkspawn to crumble. When it opened its mouth, gurgling with bloody bubbles, Loghain twisted the blade to the left. Finally, the alpha fell to its knees, grasping for his throat and failing miserably—Loghain thrust the longsword in so deeply that its tip exited the alpha's back. 

Around him, the roar of battle was beginning to calm: without their commander , the hurlocks and genlocks were struck down one by one. Up in the sky, the Archdemon was still soaring, decimating soldiers and destroying buildings. As he pulled the weapon from the alpha’s chest, the muffled exclamation of the elves’ victory could be heard. Entire families were reuniting, thanking their gods for being alive. Nevertheless, it felt wrong. He was not where he had to be. The realization broke the fury of the battle still raging in his veins, and for the first time, he realized that he was wounded. He carefully attempted a step—his right knee definitely hurt, but not enough to stop him from accomplishing his mission. Arl Eamon's healer must have noticed it too, because she was moving towards him. Brushing the woman away with a harsh gesture, he called instead for Arl Eamon and the dwarf.

“I command you to reach the market provide back-up for Greagoir up, if needed. Should the market be safe and sound already, lead the troops to the gates and fight by the King’s side.” 

The Arl and the dwarf exchanged confused looks, the dwarf even stopped cleaning his two-handed sword. The other soldiers stared at him questioningly too.

“What about you, Loghain?” Eamon inquired. Loghain was not fooled by his measured tone and knew the man enough to decipher his intense look. The Arl may have asked quietly, but had no intention of letting him go without a satisfying answer. 

“I will join Warden Surana. You have seen that dragon, haven’t you? Then, you might agree she could use some help,” the former Teyrn flatly answered. 

“She gave you an order, Loghain” Eamon retorted. “And it's really the worst timing to play the knight in shin-”.

“ENOUGH!” Loghain shouted. It was the voice of the General.He glared defiantly at Eamon, daring him to contradict him. 

Everyone held their breath as they awaited his answer. 

After a few seconds, Eamon reluctantly looked away. 

“The King won't disapprove. In fact, I'm pretty sure he will support this,” Loghain brusquely added. His voice softened a bit. “Please, Eamon, make sure my daughter is treated kindly.”

Without waiting for the Arl's answer. He turned and limped towards his horse. He had to get to Fort Drakon. 

Oghren stood in front of him, already saddled on his bronto, frowning. 

“Not without me, Warden,” the dwarf simply stated. Even when Loghain moved one step forward, Oghren refused to let him pass. “We could go on all night, but something tells me you’re in a rush. So, let me tell ya. It’s simple. Either I come with you, or you don't go at all. Your choice.” He added, stubbornness clear in his voice, “There is little doubt that I’m a drunk, but I'm not an idiot. She didn't want you up there, and yet you're ready to be accused of insubordination for having disobeyed an order. Something is going on. I don’t wanna know, but I want her to wake up tomorrow. And I bet you could use the help.”

Loghain gnashed his teeth in frustration. As maddening as it was, the dwarf was right about everything. “Fine. We are going to Fort Drakon,” he declared. “Be sure to keep up with me. I won’t slow down for you, dwarf.” 

One second later, a burst of purple flames destroyed the bridge connecting the Alienage and the Market.

* * *

Their ride to Fort Drakon was surprisingly easy—the darkspawn that had entered the city focused on the Alienage and the Market. Over their heads, however, the dragon was still supervising the city, gazing at what it had already considered conquered, perhaps. From behind, Loghain heard the sound of Eamon's men on the march; as the bridge had become impassable, the soldiers had taken the long route to reach the gates. 

Loghain kept looking at the sky from time to time, taking great care to not lose sight of the Archdemon. When they passed the Royal Palace, he noticed something: the dragon’s behavior was changing. Instead of gracefully soaring above Denerim, it seemed to fly in circles and hovered nearer to the ground. 

Only once was dragon distracted, probably giving in to its hateful nature, and crumbled one of the Palace's spire in what reminded Loghain of a spiteful gesture. It moved like he was searching something, or someone. 

And suddenly, it trembled momentarily then roared in indignation. Its head turned toward Fort Drakon, then flew towards the building at top speed. Loghain's heart skipped a beat. He knew exactly what had happened and who the Archdemon was about to charge.

“Dwarf! We need to rush!” he cried, spurring the horse. 

Without a word, Oghren followed. He must have perceived the urgency in his voice. 

For Loghain, the moments following his realization that the fight between Neria and the Archdemon had begun was nothing but a spiral of blood and battle. Without hesitating, caring little for his own life, he attacked every darkspawn in his way, one step after another. Each victory was a step nearer to Fort Drakon's roof. To her. He ignored the soldiers left to guard the door, their pleading for him to stay and help them fight the enemies eager to reach the roof and to aid the Archdemon. 

The door that separated him from her safety was less than ten steps away.


	16. Your light shines so bright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _So glad we've almost made it,  
>  So sad we had to fade it._

# YOUR LIGHT SHINES SO BRIGHT

**_City of Denerim_ **   
**_Fort Drakon's roof_ **

_There's a room where the light won't find you_

_Holding hands while the walls come tumbling down_

_When they do, I'll be right behind you_

_So glad we've almost made it_

_So sad we had to fade it_

Fort Drakon's roof was bathed in blood, its grounds filled with corpses—some gashed, other chewed by the dragon's teeth or even cut in half. At the center of the chaos stood the Archdemon. After his wing had been pierced, trapping it on the roof, the Archdemon refused to surrender, fighting even more ferociously. Crippled or not, its claws could still tear a man apart and its tail was still deadly enough to crush the bones of three men at a time. Getting near enough to make it bleed had been a nightmare. And each time it had found itself with its back to the wall, it managed to fly away and reach another section of the roof—it still had one functional wing, after all. And that sane wing, it had taken particular care to keep it out of range from any weapons and arrows. Even trapped and surrounded, the Archdemon had brought down dozens of soldiers, werewolves and even the powerful golem. Like the god it was, it fought proudly until the very end. But a dragon is born to attack from the skies, with the wind beneath its wings., not from a roof. So, minute by minute, the beast grew weaker, more frustrated, more aggressive. And eventually, a ballista’s dart had pierced its second wing. In the end, Sten had managed to cut its throat. Not enough to claim its life, but enough to prevent the dragon from spitting its dangerous fire.

Even now, watching the Archdemon as it contorted in agony, its body covered in lacerations, , arrows, and two giant darts stuck into both its wings, Neria could not deny how beautiful and grandiose the dragon looked. It was dying, but it was not asking for pity. Its eyes were still glittering in hate, as clouded and bloody they had become. 

An image flashed before her eyes. Her, the Landsmeet, Loghain, the way he had appeared proud and dignified, no matter what his fate could have been. Neria closed her eyes in an effort to drive away the tears, bit it was to no avail. 

She watched from behind a blurred veil as the Archdemon desperately clawed at the ground. For a moment she forgot all the blood around her, all the slashes covering her body, her partly teared up robe. At last, she understood. In front of her stood the reason why she had never been free. She had been fool enough to think that being a Grey Warden could give her enough power to choose for herself, but in truth, she had given up her freedom the moment she had gone through the Joining. In doing so, she had traded one prison for another, the Circle for the Grey Wardens.

“We did it,” Leliana murmured. The bard was still standing behind one of the ballista. She looked somewhat amazed, as if she could not believe her own eyes.

“I never harbored any doubt,” Sten stated. 

Neria blinked, turning towards the Qunari. Her vision got a bit clearer. “Thank you, Sten. You have been a real friend,” she whispered, choking on her own voice.

Silently, Zevran appeared by her side. Luckily, the tremendous blow the Archdemon had inflicted upon him had turned out to be nothing more than a strained back muscle. He hadn't spoken a word since the Archdemon lay dying, and he looked weirdly stone-faced.

In a flash of light, Witherfang transformed into the Lady of the Forest. She wasn’t any less wounded than the rest of them, but her voice was still strong and clear. “We should finish it off before it recovers its strength, or some modicum of hope. Right now the beast is desperate. I can smell its fear.”

And desperate it was. The Archdemon barely slithered, its eyes burning with hate.

Neria gulped, pushing back the lump in her throat. “We should,” she agreed. “I will put an end to it.” Holding her staff tight, she took the first step towards her death—but a strong grip around her wrist prevented her from moving forward. 

The Warden turned, finding herself face to face with Zevran. “What if I took care of it? You can barely walk, while I,” he gestured at his armor, partly damaged but mostly intact, “would certainly be more ready than you actually are to strike back. Just a precaution, in case the bastard tries a final move.”

Zevran was right, and in any other circumstance, that would have been the better course of action. This time, she could not allow it. Even worse, every second lost reminded her of the horror of what awaited her. Every second lost bit down a fraction of her courage.

“I am the one who drank from the chalice. The beast is mine,” Neria almost growled. She tried to break free from his grip, but as much as she struggled, he refused to let go. When she looked into his eyes, she saw the cold resolve of the assassin, the determination of the Crows mixed with deep anguish.

“Let me help you, then. I will stick my blades into its throat,” the Antivan proposed. 

For a moment Neria stood at him, at a loss of words. She was puzzled, frustrated, growing desperate by the second. Her anger took over.

“Blast and damnation, Zevran, just let me GO! I command it!” she cried. 

Everyone stared blankly at them both. Zevran didn’t move. Breaking the silence, Sten unsheathed his sword and pointed it at Zevran's heart. “You heard her. She's our commander, the one who guided us to victory. She wishes to claim her killing, and you will let her savor victory.”

The assassin let go. “ _Nagale_! Do you wish to see her die, Qunari?” He answered Sten, Leliana and the Lady's puzzled looks with a passionate plea. “Trust me on this. Just wait a few minutes. I ask for nothing else.”

Neria sensed the desperation in his voice and saw the distress in his expression. In a heartbeat, she understood—somehow, Zevran _knew_. She knew exactly _who_ Zevran was asking them to wait for. 

There was no more time left. If her companions decided to heed Zevran’s words, there would be no way for her to fulfill her duty. Without hesitating, her staff in hand, Neria turned and started running towards the dying Archdemon. Her muscles implored her to stop, to slow down at least, as she felt her wounds open more and more. She ignored every alarm bell. Her body didn’t matter anymore. She ignored the sound of an opening door, running faster instead. Loghain had arrived on the roof, and he had come to stop her. Maybe he would chase after her, without calling her name. Perhaps she could handle his presence, but wasn’t certain if she could ignore his pleas. 

Loghain frantically pushed out the door. He couldn’t ignore the huge number of corpses, the violence of their deaths, but the moment he saw Neria running towards the dying dragon, her staff tight into her hands, he focused only on the woman he loved. Badly wounded, she was running toward her death. Ferelden hadn’t once crossed his mind, all that mattered was her. And he would never reach her in time.

“Neria. Please, stop,” Loghain called. A plea was all he he had left. With all his heart, he hoped that she would listen.

Loghain’s voice collided with Neria from the inside. The sound broke her will, it made her feel the pain of her wounds, it made her stop right where she was. She was so close to the Archdemon, she could almost touch it. , But it didn't matter anymore. Panting, without thinking, she turned around. Loghain was walking with a slight limp towards her,—a sudden wave of concern filled her, she couldn’t help but wonder what had happened, who had dared to injure him. And then, she noticed everything around her. The Fort, the roof, the blood, their enemy. If she didn't act, he would suffer more than a little pain. Trembling, she used her staff as a shield, ready to knock him out, if necessary. 

“Don't. Don’t come any closer, or I’ll have to… Just let me...” she gulped, her voice reduced to a whisper “...let me gift you my life. Let me atone. I am free to do that, at least. I earned as much.”

Despite her warning, Loghain kept advancing. True, even as weakened as she was, she possessed enough power to knock him senseless, but he wasn’t afraid. He was ready to try his best to convince her to step aside and let him atone for his sins instead.

“You did. You earned it, my love,” Loghain agreed. When he saw her body relax a bit and her hold on the staff weaken, he moved forward. Now, she was so close that he could have thrown her aside, to save her life. But he chose not to—he didn't want her last memory of him to be a stab in the back, he didn’t want her to revive that moment and wonder one, ten, a hundred times how she could have stopped him. She had earned that right, and she had to choose to let go of it willingly. “That's why I'm asking you to let me take the final blow. I almost doomed Ferelden, remember? You're so young, so spirited, so fiery.” The mere thought of the fire inside her made him ache. Even now, wounded, weak and covered in blood, her locks messy and dirty, she was still the most beautiful woman in the world to him. “And you've grown so wise. You can give so much to Ferelden, a lot more than I could. Let me gift you the freedom you deserve, Neria.”

Neria stared at him. She was at loss of words. No one ever had treated her like the most precious thing in the world, despite her being covered in dirt and blood. Her soul welcomed his words, her staff slipped from her hands. The metal clanged just like his finishing words, and a deep rage grew and grew inside her. 

“To the Void with Ferelden!” Neria cried. She took one step, shoving Loghain. “This is about you! Ferelden can burn to the ground for all I care!” She felt his strong hands gripping her wrists, a contact simple enough to disarm her and break over her last defenses. Bursting into tears, she clung to his shoulders.

That violent reply took Loghain by surprise. Her shove was nowhere strong enough to make him fall, and this was no time for a fight. Instead, He gripped her wrist to stop her.. Deep down, though, he knew that all that rage was nothing but a shield. In any other moment, he would have contradicted her, explained her how choosing to die could not be simply a selfish act if done in the service of her country. Instead, he cradled her in his arms, caressing her long hair and listening to her sobs with the full awareness he could do nothing to soothe her pain. 

At one time, his embrace had made her feel safe, sheltered, protected, and the mere contact between their hands possessed to power to make her forget every trouble. Now, even behind closed eyes, all Neria could see was the Archdemon. His death, or her death. Either way, it was a world without him. A wrenching longing stung her. He was right there in her arms, but it was an unavoidable farewell. She sniffed, inhaling the air she needed to talk. 

“If you die, everything that has meaning will die with you,” she murmured. “I wished I didn't love you as much as I do, because if I didn't... I could still believe that death is redemption. The truth is that a world without you in it tastes like ashes.”

Despite everything, her words made Loghain smile. He would keep them close, engraved into his heart, and use them as an anchor during his last moments. No one ever had loved him that much, and despite that tearful farewell he was glad he managed to see her one last time. Softly, he cupped her face, looking into those magnificent, upturned amber eyes. Kissing both her cheeks, he cleansed her skin from her tears. 

“I love you, and I believe in you. You are stronger than that, and if you're not that sure, if you can’t trust yourself… trust me. You are. You will see.” Loghain whispered those words on her mouth just before locking their lips together. As he felt her return his kiss, he moved his hands on her neck, savoring its elegant form for one last time. He ran them over her shoulders, her arms, then on her hips a moment later. Her fingers caressed his face tenderly.

Was Loghain her last gift from the Maker, or her curse in not finding her own peace? She wasn’t sure. Staring into his eyes, all she knew was that, if given the choice, she would never renounce any of their moments together. Sometimes she wished she never loved him, but her heart knew better. Neria barely heard his words, she focused on his lovingly tone. When their lips touched, she hungrily welcomed his mouth. Her hands searched for his face, as if she could someway get closer to him. Second by second, it became clearer and clearer. This was the man she loved, and she would not allow him to die. She could only hope he would forgive her eventually. 

“Forgive me,” she breathed on his tongue, before releasing her telekinetic force right onto his head. Her teachers had called it Mind Blast. It was the gentlest way she could think of to knock him out without truly hurting him. 

So intoxicated by her smell, her touch, her hunger for him, he never felt it coming. It was as if someone had smashed a club upon his head. Despite the stun, he was dolefully aware that Neria had slipped away from his arms, from him, leaving him powerless and unable to follow her. Falling to his knees, holding his head with both hands, he could only watch her run away from him, right into death's arms. In that cloud of confusion, he could distinguish the figure of the Antivan racing towards her, crumble upon the roof then stand up again. Somehow, he knew he wouldn’t be able to reach her before it was too late.

The moment Neria broke physical contact with Loghain, something inside her shattered, leaving her the empty vessel that she has to become. Neria ran. She heard someone's steps behind her, but she didn't turn. She had to flee before Loghain could recover. The Archdemon was still where they had left it, still mortally wounded, it roared weakly as he saw her approach. In a last desperate attempt, it took a swipe at her, one if its claws pierced her thigh. Ignoring the pain, the Warden pressed both her hands upon the dragon's head and called for her power. Electricity flew through her hands, her arms, her entire body. As the Archdemon howled in agony, it drained what was left of its power and her life force. A tainted energy consumed her blood, piece by piece her skin cracked open like a nutshell. Images flashed into her brain—the blood inside the Joining cup, her nightmares, the Archdemon at its full power, legions and legions of darkspawn. As a chilling wave claimed her last bit of warmth, a single, amazingly clear thought filled her mind. 

There has never been any freedom. 

 

**_Dragon 31, Denerim Royal Palace_ **   
**_5 days after the victory_ **

_But touch my tears with your lips,_

_Touch my world with your fingertips,_

_And we can have forever,_

_And we can love forever._

Dream and reality, sleep and wake, they had been the same since her death. Every waking moment, every minute of sleep had become nothing more than reliving the pure, shining, deadly light surrounding her and the dragon, its howling and her chilling scream, the moment when he had hoped to reach her, take her place and spare her the suffering, his powerlessness. Behind closed eyes Loghain could see how her hands had clawed into the Archdemon's skull, her face paling in pain and becoming hollow, as if it wasn't even hers anymore. In the dark of night, the bright column that burst towards the sky and threw him across Fort Drakon’s roof, burned like a beacon.

Her body had felt like a broken doll into his arms. Her hands and face were icy, so different from the warmth she had always given out. She had stared at him with eyes made of glass, frighteningly blank and void. With the dragon’s blood on his hands, after he beheaded the beast, had not been enough to alleviate his rage. Dragons, traitorous beasts. The sight of a dragon had promised victory to Maric, but have been only a vessel of death for Neria. Her farewell kiss, so real, still burned on his lips. It was the only memory that had the power to drive away everything else. Sometimes, it felt so real in his dreams. In them, she dried his tears with warm hands and looked right into his eyes with warm amber. And every time, the dream ended when he carried her body, her head curled up against his arm as if she was sleeping, just like she had done many times. 

Except, in reality, he carried her lifeless, broken body and ignored every look and murdering every cry of victory with an icy look. Without her in it, the world had no right to rejoice. Even as he had reached the Royal Palace, he had refused to hand her over to anyone. He and Thig at his side, mourned for her until they both had fallen asleep. The next morning, she was gone. Someone had taken her away. Loghain had asked to see her corpse once more—that way, perhaps, he could put a stop to those lying dreams and face the harsh reality. The King had met his request with disdain and cold-heartedness. He would not see her again for another five days. It was the day of the Hero of Ferelden’s funeral.

The bard, the Antivan, the dwarf and the Qunari were guarding her body. They had dressed her in Circle robes, gathered her long hair into a braid, laid her on a sarcophagus and put her staff into her joined hands. They had turned her into an icon of heroism, of a mages' freedom, of victory. 

Looking from the window of his room, Tigh by his side, Loghain watched as the King and Anora led the Fereldan nobles to the sarcophagus. Arl Eamon and Bann Teagan followed behind, and them were Knight Commander Greagoir, King Bhelen, the Elder Valendrian and the Lady of the Forest. The rest of the column was a procession of elves, werewolfes, templars and dwarves, some of the survivors of the last battle amongst them. The Orlesian Wardens walked alone, in their own column. He listened to King Alistair as he spoke about her spirit of sacrifice and defined her as their savior. 

Loghain curved his lips in a bitter smile—if only he knew. But how could he, the man prone to always doing the right thing? Alistair didn't know anything of mistakes haunting enough to invade both thoughts and dreams, of sins committed for the sake of the greater good, capable of breaking someone's mind and turning it into a trap. Neria had experienced all of that. Part of him wanted to step up and tell them the truth, give all those people an opportunity to honor her as the woman she had been. She had fought all her life for her own freedom, for recognition in this cold world, to become more than a filthy elf or an abomination-to-be. A woman who had been courageous enough to make practical choices and be ruthless when needed. Someone who had committed crimes in order to satisfy her anger and grudges, but had eventually found the courage to admit how wrong she had been. 

The King had it all wrong, Neria was not the woman he was describing. She had been to the Void and back, tasted every sin, bore every guilt and cleaned herself of it all. There had been a time when she desired to become an icon of some sort, a symbol to be worshiped, but not anymore. She deserved to be worshiped as the wise woman she had become. Neria Surana was so much more than the Hero of Ferelden—but they would never know. Loghain had no right to strip her of the only form of recognition she could obtain by now. The true Neria was a secret that he would guard into his heart and his memory. 

Loghain looked at her once again. So fiery in life, so composed in death. Braids were not her thing at all. If it had been anyone else on that sarcophagus, he would have believed her to be sleeping. It was rare for Neria to remain quiet, even in her sleep and certainly not in public like that. She never wasted an occasion to show off. And even when she didn't mean to, she always stood out from the crowd. 

Anora spoke. His daughter announced that the new Circle would be given independence, in memory of Neria's deeds. Loghain shook his head, briefly caressing Tigh's head. Even the mabari whined—perhaps he also sensed how much Neria would have disapproved. She knew very well how freedom was a personal matter, and people achieved it in their own ways. If those mages weren't able to fight for their own freedom, they didn't deserve it. He could almost hear her voice. Oh, she would have absolutely hated that funeral. It was absurd enough to be nothing but a bad dream. For a moment, Loghain expected her to open her eyes, proudly stand and look at them all in disdain, call them all noble hypocrites, and then leave triumphantly while undoing that blasted braid. 

But Neria kept still and remained silent. Loghain closed his eyes. It was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _And sadly, that's the last of Neria :( Killing her off pains me so much. But after all, she was doomed from the start. I've always known it._
> 
> _It doesn't mean I'm done with the story though--the epilogue's left. Bear with me, I assure you it's worth the wait!_


	17. Brand new world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neria is gone.
> 
> But Loghain's world is to be shaken once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome this final chapter.  
> You can find the true, last A/N at the end of the chapter.

# BRAND NEW WORLD

The courtyard had eventually emptied, dinner time had passed. 

A banquet in honor of the Hero, and to celebrate the victory over the horde, had been held. Loghain refused to participate, electing to remain in his room instead. Not surprisingly, he had had hated every part of it, every sound, the quiet waves of laughter, the toasts, the dances that had no doubt taken place. To him, everything was meaningless and inappropriate. 

Finally, night had fallen and the Royal Palace had crept into silent. 

A knock on the door took him by surprise. Without watching away from the flames in the fireplace, he held one of the wooden small sculptures he had crafted for Neria and ordered, “Go away.” He didn't care who was on the other side of the door, nor what anyone could possibly want from him. Hopefully, it wasn’t a harassing royal page boy. 

When no further reply came, Loghain sighed in relief. That relief didn’t last long—the sound of the door handle being lowered forced him to abandon his train of thought. 

Enraged, he turned, a venomous answer prepared in his throat. When he saw Anora standing in the doorway holding a tray of food, his rage quelled. His daughter stared at him with a worried expression on her face. As if she was giving him the chance to refuse her company, she didn’t take a single step. She was ready to leave, had he preferred so. 

Loghain opened his mouth to tell her he’d rather be alone, that even she was not welcome. Then, he noticed the anguish on her face—her daughter was there for him and was beyond worried. She had come when everyone else at the Palace refused to acknowledge his existence.

“If the Theirin boy is treating you like a maid already, I'll gladly make clear to him that you deserve respect,” Loghain ranted, crossing his arms.

Calmly, Anora lay the tray on the table and without saying a word, gently, took hold of his hands. “What are you doing here, father?” she inquired, completely ignoring his abruptness. 

Loghain stared at her. In the whole Thedas, nobody but her had ever taken the luxury to not attach importance to his foul mood. The simple sight of her prevented him from retorting. Sometimes, when he looked at his daughter he still saw a six-years-old child with pigtails and scraped knees. But she wasn’t a child anymore. Anora had become even stronger and wiser than he could expect her to turn into. 

“That funeral was a farce, Anora. And we both know no one was happy to see me there. Not at the funeral, not at the banquet,” Loghain took a seat in front of the fireplace.

Anora took a seat beside him. For several seconds she didn't speak at all, her hands cupped up one another on her knees. The light of fire made the golden embroidery on her black velvet dress sparkle like stars. 

After a long pause, Anora finally spoke. “In my speech, I didn't say the most important thing.”. She threw him a glance. “None of them would have understood.”

For the first time since the defeat of the Archdemon, Loghain felt emotion other than pain, guilt, and anger. He was surprised. “What are you talking about, Anora?”

She looked right into his eyes. They were ice blue, just like his, and exactly like him she knew how to exploit the intrinsic coldness of that color to look menacing. Right now, however, all he saw was love. “She brought you back to me. That's how much I owe Warden Surana.”

Somehow, that confession amazed him. He perfectly remembered the way Anora had embraced him at Castle Redcliffe, but he was also aware that he hadn't always been a good father. Sometimes, he felt so guilty that he couldn’t look her in the eye. “I let Cailan, your husband die. The battle was lost, there was no way to save him without being slaughtered, so I traded his life for Ferelden's. When our country had fallen into civil war, despite knowing very well how precious your advice could be, I never listened to you. Instead of trusting your opinion in regard of the Wardens, I let Arl Howe keep you prisoner. I dragged Ferelden to the edge of disaster. And now... you're about to marry a man who probably despises you just because of the blood running in your veins and who is unlikely to ever make you happy.” Ashamed, Loghain looked away. “I have failed you. I can endure almost any other mistake, to have failed you is my worst crime.”

Anora listened intently and finally nodded. She didn't seem distressed, and the condemning expression he expected to find was not there. She held his hands, squeezing them lightly. “You made some mistakes, father, yes, and I'm glad you are strong enough to admit it. But… do you really think that your mistakes are all I see when I look at you?” She shook her head and offered him a soft smile. “You have not failed me. You've made me the strong Queen I am today and the one I will continue to be. I am all you wished me to be, and watching you regret your actions serves to teach me in what I should do, if ever I take the wrong path.”

His daughter's forgiveness lifted the burden off his chest. His lips curled up into a thin smile. “Nevertheless, all of this shouldn't have happened. You're trapped in this marriage because I defied the Wardens instead of collaborating with them. I am sorry, Anora,” Loghain confessed, tucking a lock of her golden hair behind her ear.

Anora leaned in to kiss his cheek. “I forgive you for Cailan's fate. Had you charged, you wouldn’t be at my side now. Marrying Alistair, however, was entirely my choice—I could have refused, but I didn't. There's...” she hesitated, frowning, clearly searching for the right words, “a kindness in him. And should I ever be wrong, have you ever seen me back off from a fight?” 

“You never back off. I taught you as much,” Loghain had to admit. He briefly ruffled her blond hair. “But know this. If he ever disrespects you, I'll take care of it. Warden or not, King or not.” 

“That's much better” Anora stated, smiling brightly. She stood, ready to leave. “Now, eat something. And… don't drown in your own mourning and pain, father. Warden Surana didn't bring you back for that.”

Speechless, Loghain stared at his daughter as she left the room. When had she grown wiser than him? 

The moment she disappeared behind the door, the omnipresent mourning crushed his heart once again.

**_§§§_ **

Later, that night, when the grip of mourning continued to tighten, Loghain understood. He owed her a proper farewell, he needed his own funeral. There was little time before they were to take her away from him, to the grand tomb at Weisshaupt.

She lie within the sarcophagus chosen for her. Her hands were folded on her chest, her orchid-shaped staff held beneath them. A thin veil covered her face, and her fiery hair was still gathered into that braid.Spring flowers had been placed over her body. But it wasn't her, it wasn't his Neria.

Without thinking, Loghain threw away the flowers and brushed aside the veil. He untied the ribbon holding her braid and ran his fingers through her mane, slowly savoring it softness. Next thing he knew, he was holding her lifeless body in his arms, sobbing uncontrollably. 

As he buried his face into her neck, every single detail flashed into his mind. The cocky way she had replied to his attempts of assassination, how he had started to admireher courage and her ruthlessness even before setting his eyes on her. How at the Landsmeet he had discovered at his own expense that she wasn't only the most beautiful and smart woman he had ever seen, but also confident in her powers. The spark of hesitation and confusion he had seen into her eyes at the moment she won the right to decide whether he lived or died. The many, many times he had wondered why a ruthless woman had spared his life. How she had become a mystery to unveil, a fascinating riddle. The moment he had finally solved the riddle and glimpsed in her soul the same guilt that was tormenting him. All the nights he had spent wondering how to get closer to her without making her feel vulnerable, considering how she she used her fiery temper to keep everyone at a distance. How time after time he had come to love and understand both her flaws and her virtues. She was the most baffling woman in the world, extraordinary enough to ask him about the events previous to his Joining and protecting him with a wolf’s boldness. When she had finally crumbled in his arms, he had never expected to feel the need to protect someone as strong as her. That moment he had sworn to always protect her. The ache he had felt when, during her path of repentance, she had come to the conclusion that she wasn't enough for him, nor for the Grey Wardens.

Only then, with her dead body in his arms, he understood—no matter how much he had loved her, she had felt the need to prove worthy by slaying the beast. And now, he was forever in her debt. 

For a brief moment, he hated her for having tricked him and leaving him alone. But in truth, she wasn’t the one in need of forgiveness. It was he who needed to be forgiven, for he was the one who had failed in protecting her and showing her how marvelous she was.

 

**_Dragon 31, Denerim Royal Palace_ **  
**_Queen Anora and King Alistair’s coronation_ **

_Let him call me a tyrant so cruel_

_Let him curse my name_

_But remember the truth_

The moment Gran Cleric Elemena traced the Maker's blessing upon Anora's head, thus crowning her Queen of Ferelden, Loghain focused upon his daughter only. For that tiny moment everything else fell to the background. The court's whispers about his weird behavior and his disrespect towards the Hero for having missed her funeral, maybe out of jealousy that he was not the Hero—he ignored it all. Only Anora knew, only she believed in him. And for that moment, he was just a proud father. Crowned and draped in soft orange, and golden embroidered silks, she looked just like the Queen she was always supposed to be. When the royal couple turned to hail the crowd, he savored Anora's smile, and not even Alistair’s hateful look caused him distress.

When the King and the Queen took their thrones, thus giving everyone permission to indulge in conversation, a feminine, sarcastic voice reclaimed his attention. “So, it appears that you and the Hero didn't need our help after all. A marvelous feat. So marvelous that I wonder why the King doesn't seem to be madly in love with you.”

Loghain turned, finding himself face to face with Alissa Fontaine, Warden-Commander of Orlais. In front of him stood a black haired, imposing woman, tall and muscular, but nonetheless feminine in her movements A greatsword rested within its sheath on her back. Much to his surprise and for the first time in his life, an Orlesian accent didn't get on his nerves. Loghain frowned.

Suddenly, the woman smirked. “It's nothing personal, I swear. As Warden-Commander, I was curious to meet the former Teyrn who first denied us Wardens access to Ferelden, and is now one of us. That's all.”

“Well,” Loghain replied, brusquer than he had meant to be, “do I have to deduce that the Warden-Commander of Orlais Wardens doesn't have any respect for the Hero? There you are, smirking and joking, less than one week after Warden Surana's death. What about the sacredness of a sacrifice?” 

Even before he could finish his sentence, a swift, blonde man appeared beside Warden-Commander Fontaine. “Is this man bothering you, Warden-Commander?” the stranger inquired, staring suspiciously at him.

Alissa smiled brightly at him, placing a hand on the blonde man's shoulder. “No problem at all, Warden-Constable Blackwall. We're just... exchanging pleasantries,” 

Nodding, Blackwall left without a word, glancing at him once again before leaving.

Alissa turned towards Loghain again. Now, she looked serious, even grim. “If you were one of my men, I would punish you for your insolence, Warden.” She raised her hand, signaling to Loghain she was not done yet. “However, I didn’t expect such respect towards the Order from someone like you. I suppose that living through a Blight can make anyone more... conscientious.”

Anora's voice pierced through the buzz.

“My Lord and Ladies, we have an announcement to make,” the Queen announced, standing and thus requiring everyone's full attention. Alistair stood by her side. Her eyes searched for someone inside the room. “Alissa Fontaine, Warden-Commander of Orlais, please come forward.”

The crowd opened up to let the Warden-Commander pass, and the woman stopped in front of the Queen and the King. 

“This Blight taught every single one of us, how race or country don't matter when it comes to defending our country. So, we are pleased to open our boundaries to the Grey Wardens of Orlais once again.” She paused, looking at the Warden-Commander as she bowed, leaving some space for her reply if she wished.

“We are pleased to be here in Ferelden, Your Majesties. And I thank you for your welcome, in the name of every Warden of Orlais,” Alissa Fontaine stated.

Alistair took one step, reclaiming the floor. “As King of Ferelden, I hereby decree the Arling of Amaranthine, once ruled by Arl Rendon Howe, to be a property of the Grey Wardens, as a reward for their service.”

Everyone started clapping and acclaiming their rulers and the Grey Wardens as well. A sudden bitterness filled Loghain's mouth: if only they knew of the Joining, they would literally worship the Wardens. 

The King raised his hand, and fixed a cold, icy gaze on Loghain. “Loghain Mac Tir, former Teyrn of Gwaren, now Warden Mac Tir, come forward,” he ordered. 

Swallowing back his acid response, Loghain obeyed. The man crowned as King of Ferelden had chosen to be a reserve in slaying the Archdemon, he was part of the reason why Neria was dead instead yet he acted like an arrogant boy just because of the crown upon his head. Loghain noticed Eamon and Teagan exchanging worried glances, while Anora was discreetly tried to get Alistair's attention, to no avail.

Side by side with Alissa Fontaine, Loghain stared back at Alistair without any fear or subjection. Just like he had waited the Landsmeet to decide his fate, he waited for the King to spit out whatever he wished to.

“Loghain Mac Tir, you have almost torn our nation apart while acting as regent. In addition, during the Landsmeet you have been charged for having sent Denerim’s alienage elves into slavery, for having allowed the torture and imprisonment of Oswyn, the son of Bann Sighard, Templar Irminric, brother of Bann Alfstanna, Vaughan Kendells, the son of the former Arl of Denerim, Rexel, a brave soldier who fought at Ostagar, and Soris, an elf from the Alienage. As King of Ferelden, I charge you guilty,” Alistair declared. 

Every inch of Alistair's voice sang of victory and revenge over his old enemy. The lad had become smart. After all, that crown upon his head allowed him to be his judge. Anora’s hands were tied, and or the sake of the monarchy she could not stand up and publicly contradict her husband-to-be without making the new royal couple look unstable during its very first public appearance. Loghain saw her tighten her lips in anger. 

“However,” continued the King, “your actions during the Fifth Blight partly redeem your actions. In fact, it was you who organized the excellent defense of Denerim's gates. All things considered...”

Clever. Clever enough to outline his merits along his crimes. Reluctantly, Loghain had to admit Alistair had learned a thing or two during his travels. 

“... I banish you from Ferelden for the next five years, effective immediately. You are permitted to enter the country once a year, to visit your daughter. In addition, when the new heir to the Crown will be born you will be allowed to cross the borders and meet your grandson, or granddaughter. Should a Blight threaten Ferelden once again, you will be permitted to cross the borders and perform your Warden duties.. Any other visit will require our permission beforehand.” He paused. “Warden-Commander Fontaine, Warden Mac Tir, you are dismissed.”

Alistair stared at him, defying him to retort or even question his decision. Anora was practically livid with anger. As much as he desired to spit in Alistair’s face, Loghain bowed once again. “As you command, Your Highnesses.” As he started to walk back, the commanding voice of Alissa Fontaine broke the shocked silence of the hall. 

“Your Majesties, as Warden-Commander of Orlais I wish to lead Warden Mac Tir to Orlais. As you command, he won't set foot in Ferelden unless needed in case of a Blight. If Your Majesties agree to my request, we will leave tomorrow morning and he will serve the Order of the Grey Wardens in Orlais.” 

Dismayed, Loghain stopped. He had come to understand, to his own grief, how much even one more Warden could make the difference, but he would have sworn that the woman didn't like him at all. 

“Permission granted, Warden-Commander,” agreed Alistair. He shot Loghain another disgusted look. “Now, back to the feast.”

Loghain shared a long, sorrowful look with Anora before turning his back on her. 

“Perhaps one day you will tell me why the King hates you with such passion. And why the feeling is mutual.” The Warden-Commander said, as she walked by his side. She glanced at him, a curious glimpse in her eyes. “I have a feeling you hide quite a story.”

“What do you want from me, Warden-Commander?” Loghain asked, ignoring any other topic on the table. 

“Except the fact that one more Warden is always welcome? I thought I told you. I don't know what happened to you, but you seem to have grasped the essence of the Order quite well. What's more, you are a seasoned general and fighter, which can't hurt,” she replied.

Once again, her accent didn’t annoy him. Her words painfully reminded him of Neria, but to his surprise, his hate towards Orlais seemed to have vanished. Granted, he didn’t like Orlesian yet, but he didn’t hate them all anymore. And in truth, he appreciated the practical command of Alissa Fontaine. Silently, Loghain thanked the Maker—Neria’s death hadn’t stripped him of that new, improved version of himself. She had taught him that there was more than hate and resentment in life, and he would always be grateful to her. 

That moment, Loghain pledged to be the best Warden who ever lived, in the memory of his Neria.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Leliana said at the gates of Denerim before the final battle…  
> This is it, this is the end. 
> 
> **_Broken Locks, Twisted Dreams_** is the first multi-chaptered story I managed to finish writing and publish. I suspect, or to better say, I’m almost certain I’ll write many more stories in my life, but this one will always be special to me. Because it’s also the first one I wanted to write. 
> 
> A thank you to everyone who has followed Neria and Loghain’s adventures, to who have read even a couple of chapters, to anyone who has chosen to spend part of his/her time reading these words is in order. I truly hope you all enjoyed the ride. 
> 
> A special thank you goes to my amazing beta, _EasternViolet_. Without her, this story would have been much less pleasant to read. 
> 
> As you may have noticed, I used portions of lyrics to introduce several sequences of **_Broken Locks, Twisted Dreams_** —and since I’m nowhere as talented as those songwriters, it’s only right that I give credit where it’s due. Thus, here’s the list of songs that inspired me during my writing, whose lyrics decorate the story.
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter 1
> 
>  Blind Guardian - Somewhere Far Beyond  
> Cradle of Filth – Her Ghost In The Fog 
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter 2
> 
> Blind Guardian – The Script For My Requiem
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter 3
> 
> Sonata Arctica - Abandoned, Please, Brainwashed, Exploited
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter 4
> 
>  Blind Guardian - The Curse Of Fëanor  
> Blind Guardian - Road Of No Release  
> Sonata Arctica - They Follow  
> Sonata Arctica - My Land  
> Within Temptation - The Promise  
> Josh Groban - Remember
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter 5
> 
> Blind Guardian - Road Of No Release 
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter 6
> 
>  Blind Guardian - Doom lyrics  
> Blind Guardian - Road Of No Release  
> Within Temptation – See Who I Am
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter 7
> 
> Blind Guardian - Doom lyrics 
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter 8
> 
>  Sonata Arctica - Blood  
> Blind Guardian - Doom lyrics 
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter 9
> 
> Tony Elenburg - It's Just The First Farewell 
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter 12
> 
>  Hammerfall – Glory To The Brave  
> The National – You Were A Kindness
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter 13
> 
> Sonata Arctica – Everything Fades To Grey
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter 14
> 
> 30 Seconds to Mars – This Is War
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter 15
> 
> Lorde – Everybody Wants To Rule The World
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter 16
> 
> Lorde – Everybody Wants To Rule The World  
> Queen – Who Wants To Live Forever 
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter 17
> 
>  Blind Guardian – Curse My Name
> 
>  
> 
> So, yes, this was the last chapter.  
> But it doesn’t mean these characters’ adventures are over.  
> I have a few ideas in this brain of mine, some involving Loghain, some Neria, both directly and indirectly. I’ll go as far as anticipate that a sequel is waiting to be written. So hang around if you wish!


End file.
